


Arts and Sanctuary

by drD



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Dark Ron Weasley, Death Eaters, Multi, Possession, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Politics, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:30:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 66,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drD/pseuds/drD
Summary: In the summer following his first encounter with the Dark Lord, Harry has managed to find himself in a situation where only a miracle could allow him to survive. Unfortunately for the three idiots, Harry has that miracle inside him: it's called a Horcrux, but what is Harry willing to do to survive?





	1. start

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something a little different for the fun of it. This is a response to DZ2's challenge called 'Harry's Fall'. Will feature super/op-Harry norms and other such guidelines.

It was an accident.

An extraordinary accident, but one nonetheless.

It would be the accident that cost him _everything_ , so that he could gain something more than what he’d been initially promised. It was unusual, abrupt, and sudden. Nearly unrealistic, a ripple in time, and yet it happened all the same. At a grand ol’ twelve years of age he’d managed to have it, this… unfortunate circumstance, the subconscious unveiling of his magic. He’d needed a plate, something to slide the latest sizzling and greasy slice of bacon he’d just finished for the family that owned so much while he gained so little. He’d reached over, barely paying attention--for his aunt did not care for burnt bacon and he did not care for a ravaged backside--but knowing through muscle memory alone where his stack of plates was kept, always kept.

Yet, the cool form of the plate hit his fingertips before the assumed period and he jerked his head up just in time to hear the loud vicious _scrapping_ of a chair behind him while his mind tried to catch up on the wonder of magic--his magic--that had acted beyond his intention. The magic that had wordlessly, _wandlessly_ , pulled the plate into his small and quite fragile hand.

In another household, this miraculous act would have been celebrated. Certainly, noted in some book, in some dusty corner, this was an aspect of development very rarely expressed yet cherished. It was a symbol of budding power, something absolute and not yet completely managed, but certainly wanted.

But, Harry had never been _wanted_.

So, it’s no surprise to him when agony blossoms across his cheek. It’s no further surprise when his nerves cry out, twisting and churning along his form as meaty fists with adult-fashioned power swing up and down and up and down. He can’t follow the blows, not this time, for the pain is a massive heat, a whipping heady pound that consumes his thoughts and brings him to scream---

He doesn’t beg though, not this time, because he knows begging doesn’t work. His wordless anguish is involuntary, his uncle doesn’t like the noise, but he doesn’t know what else to do because everything hurts _so very much._

But eventually it stops, it stops right when his voice stops, when his throat is to dry and scratchy to screech and his lungs struggle and twist within his chest.

 _Something is broken,_ he’s not a stranger to this concept, to the idea of being shattered, he just doesn’t know what he’s lost, what aches the most. He’s a child after all, a wizard but still a child, lacking the increased magical presence that normally infused most pure-blooded children and gave them their leaping ticks in intellect. Is it his wrist that’s broken? Or a specific bone in his pelvis? He just isn’t sure, but the pain from his adventure last term is nothing compared to the agony that follows another harsh wheeze.

But, what had stopped him? Harry isn’t sure, but there’s a feminine blur before his blotchy gaze, one who whispers panic and disbelief while another voice behind him has been silenced. He doesn’t understand why, his pain had always given his cousin great pleasure, but there’s a straining question in Dudley’s tone that is concerning. Yes, Harry should be concerned, concerned at the amount of red that pools beneath him, concerned by the rattle in his head, by the static in his ears that muffle a harshly spat sentence from his uncle and turn his aunt's words into shrieks of terror.

Then he’s moving, dragged across the kitchen floor, past the dining room table, and into the foyer. Harry knows where he’s going, where he’s always gone, and he knows that the fact he can’t feel the tug and pull of muscle as his arm strains to drag his weight along is a problem. But the darkness beckons and all too soon he is thrown into his cupboard to embrace the solace of the space under the stairs.

Dimness claims him shortly after that.

However, it doesn’t keep him. The emptiness, the numbness, this eternal… nothing is short lived. There’s a sudden brilliance, a great crack of light that envelops the space before his slumbering consciousness. Soon, there is less _floating_ , less dreamy disconnection. Soon he is something, someone. _Harry Potter_ , instead of the broken heavy body that he’d occupied, yet the light does not end, does not fade. Instead, he feels as if he’s… burning, as if some constant thud and throb is sliding down from the scar on his forehead and oozing out from behind his eyes. His opens his mouth--or what would claim to be his mouth--but he makes no sound… instead, that _something_ dabs lightly at the brilliance, curious as it slips from beyond his tongue.

Then it’s wild, a thing that flattens and consumes until it’s able to crawl across the what might have accounted for ground space around his bare feet.

Ah, everything, in fact, is bare not just his feet.

He can see that now. He’s the only thing, pale among the darkness that he expels from his person. Yet, once it’s out--and there is a great deal to come out--the space before him warps and shifts until he’s not just among an empty metaphysical space. The darkness has manifested so much more. There are darker clusters--trees, Harry suspects--and twisting grass, pushed in a breeze he cannot feel against his flesh.

But he wriggles his toes, a childish habit, and can feel the tickle of its existence.

A forest is drawn before him, ominous in presence, until darker pockets become lighter grays and more distinguished shapes. It’s like viewing the world through an old-fashioned television, he remembers the way the dark patterns moved on classic movies, when he’d been allowed to watch such things.

Long long long ago, before he’d understood what freak and magic meant.

And yet, it’s not the twisting forest, still manifesting in a world of blacks and grays, that has his attention. It’s the wispy figure before him, grotesque in design and phantom like in form. It’s a gaunt and hollow creature, a twisted manifestation of human and inhumane and it takes Harry some time to realize that this is not another piece of the world. In fact, it takes him some time to even recognize the thing as anything other than a collection of hideous shapes. It’s not the half human face, with hanging jaw opened in fury, nor the hook-like fingers that shift in the breeze he cannot feel that gives him this clue, but it’s the…

It’s the _power_ that flows from its being that makes Harry tremble.

It’s the cold curl that trails down his spine, the oppressive chill that invades his lungs. He’s suffocating, overwhelmed by the heady _weight_ of it, burdened in such a way that he cannot move, as if struck frozen. Yet beyond that, beyond the confusion and the primitive order to _flee_ that rattles across his mentality like some trapped wild thought there’s an instant and powerful pull of _familiarity._

He knows this force, this magic.

His teeth chatter together when he gargles the name, and yet his gaze does not waver. “ _Voldemort._ ”

The creature laughed, the sound is inconceivable, like nails shaken in a metal cup, like a sack of bones clattering on wood. Yet, when he speaks--no, Harry thinks, when _He_ speaks--it’s a sibilant harmony that echoes, soft and musical, “Yes, Potter, it is I.”

Then it moves and Harry is stuck, paused in time. Only his lips are free as his eyes burn but the actual need to blink escapes him, “Why?”

Harry is bewildered. He thinks less and less of pushing the creature--this wraith--away and more of how he’s here and the reasoning behind it.

“Why not?”

There’s a pause in conversation but Harry is no longer terrified, not even when Voldemort is before him, blocking his immediate vision. An alien urge rises, one he hadn’t felt last term, one that Voldemort wouldn’t have inspired trapped on the back of his professor’s head. It’s the urge to bow, the need to surrender, to worship. Harry reached for his courage and it is not there. So, he reached for his fear, but it slumbers. Then he realized he’s curious, only curious… how very Ravenclaw of him.

So, he asked, “Have you come to kill me?”

And in return, Voldemort said, with just a bit amusement to color His phrase, “Are you ready to die?”

It’s an odd conversation to have for sure, even odder for a child to initiate, but was that not what he’d been told, time and time again? That he was more than just the average child? That he was the Chosen One? The-Boy-Who-Lived? That within him he held the power to vanquish and destroy and yet he spent the more mundane portions of his existence playing slave. It’s disconcerting, how weary he feels, how utterly weak in the face of his enemy… but he is tired and not quite prepared to spend the rest of his days floating in terror and pain.

“I’m not very sure,” He’s honest with his answer, “I’d like to survive.”

The wraith tilted His head, “I came to kill you.” But ‘came’ is a past tense verb, “But I am curious, as curious as you are, about certain things.”

Harry doesn’t have a choice but to continue the conversation. He could beg and scream. He could attempt to end whatever this currently was, but he doesn’t bother. This is a break from the pain in his body and he will take what he currently can, no matter what he would have perceived to be the best action. This is the _right_ action.

He doesn’t speak, Voldemort will ask His questions, if He has any, when He’s good and ready.

“You see,” He purrs, or is that more of a hiss, “you are dying, so there is no need to expend the energy I have to destroy you.”

Harry’s slight frown is the only proof that he’s disturbed by that fact.

“The Muggles,” Voldemort spat, “have done enough to ensure that.”

Harry can only nod, he knew something was broken, just not the extent of what.

“I was not aware that my _equal_ was so… terribly vulnerable. Does Albus not care?”

It takes Harry a moment to realize that Voldemort, now introspective, is talking about the Headmaster. “I’m here for my own safety.”

His naivety is more like stupidity, he is not safe here and Voldemort’s laugh confirms such.

“Do you know how I’m here?”

Harry’s answer is a quick empty ‘no’.

“It’s because there _is_ no protection here. I can feel the stirrings of olde magic--a blood ward perhaps? And yet…” Here Voldemort paused to slowly lift His arm, the robes of darkness that covered His form falling back to display skeletal hands and those wickedly gleaming fingertips, one of which He pressed to the very center of Harry’s head. ‘Here. I. Am.”

A trail of red blossomed from the touch, but it soon faded to colorless gray, dividing Harry’s face with its presence as it trickled down past his nose. “I don’t… understand?”

The very tip of that finger presses deeper but the pain Harry expects never comes. “I’m saying, Mr. Potter, that something, once upon a time, existed here to protect you and yet I can feel it has shattered… worthless.

“For you see, blood magic, especially older magicks, are finicky and dare I say sentient. They make the rules, as wild as they are. They determine what is allowed and what isn’t. Something here… ah yes, yes, I can hear the whispers, something here kept you _safe_ from the outside, but never the inside. Your blood, too much of it, has infected the wards here.”

Voldemort’s jaw shifted, bouncing in silent laughter, “In our _blood_ is so much more than normal terms of… Muggle or Wizard. In our _blood_ is the level of our magic, of our madness, of our potential.”

Harry’s lips twisted upward in a silent snarl, he would not stand by idly and listen to purity nonsense and--

“Silence, boy,” Voldemort sneered and suddenly there was pain, immense and thought shattering before Harry managed to scramble enough of his consciousness to listen again, “This is not a debate about mudbloods or otherwise.”

Harry flinched but did not speak.

“Our blood holds so much information. Knowledge on who we are and what we _could_ be. How we _came_ to be. But more than that, it holds our real feelings and olde magic can feel that. The magic that protected you can only do so if this was a place you called home.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath and despite the oppressive sensation of Voldemort’s magic and His invasive finger he could still feel the harsh pounding thud of his rapidly beating heart. “So…”

“So… is this your home, Potter? Has it _ever_ been?”

Anger curled low in his belly, a snake that clawed at his guts and threatened to bubble out of his throat. It mingled well with a sudden grief, a choking sense of _hopelessness_ that stole the heat from his flesh. Nothing more need be said and Voldemort seemed to sense that. Somehow, Harry knew he could read his mind, could abruptly understand every single aspect of his being in just the shadows that twisted behind the green of his gaze.

He had _never_ been safe. Not on the outside and certainly not on the inside. This prison, his _home,_ had been a cage from the moment he realized his name wasn’t _freak_. He had begged his Headmaster not to send him back, but hadn’t opened his mouth about the abuses--for fear had strangled his tongue at the idea of his uncle’s retaliation--and yet he had still been forced to return without even knowing why.

Yet, the real reason, the reason of security, was not even a reality.

“Who… why… why am I here?” Harry croaked, trying to force words out past the tightness of his throat and the burning in his gaze. He would not cry here, not before Him. He was weak enough and very well tired of it.

“I imagine it’s because Albus wants you to be.” Slowly Voldemort removed His fingertip, the red of Harry’s blood bright against their colorless backdrop, so very different from the grey that slipped past his trembling lips.

“But why?” Harry said, trying not to grouse.

For a moment, Voldemort was occupied, toying with the sticky moisture between His pinched fingertips, but when He spoke again it was with a husky coo of delight, “Would you like to find out _why?”_

His voice was trapped in his throat, “I’m dying.”

He would never find out why.

Yet, Voldemort pressed on as if Harry had said nothing at all, “What the Muggles have done to you is unforgivable.” He doesn’t sound angry, just mildly unimpressed, “Magical blood is a precious commodity… Our people are few and spread out to widely. The Muggles and the precious Light encourage the gentry to generate wild elitist ideals, ideals that have done little to endear all of wizarding kind to the real cause.”

Harry took a shuddering breath, trying to understand, _willing_ himself to understand.

“You see, Mr. Potter, brood like Albus, they praise and worship Muggles while alienating the wizards. Then, the wizards become frustrated. They feel shunned. It’s easy to… feed on the fears of those who feel forgotten. It’s easy to manipulate a people looking for a savior. Albus,” Voldemort whispered, head tilted toward the endless twisting skies of smudged grays and shapes, “fed on me as well. When I needed someone to… save me.”

The wraith didn’t have eyes but Harry imagined that, if it did, they would be closed, “I needed a protector, a guide. Albus attempted to provide that but when I grew too smart, too _powerful,_ he tossed me aside and I had to _save myself._ ”

The trembling lower jaw suddenly snapped shut as thin lips spread into a grin far too wide to look anything other than horrifying. “You see, Albus didn’t like that he couldn’t control me. That he couldn’t… do whatever he pleased and make me think whatever he wanted.” He gave a shrug, an odd sort of action to watch considering Voldemort’s current form, “We aren’t that different. Albus and I. But his understanding of magic and what is _best_ for our world has been twisted by naivety and greed.”

“And you are different?” Harry blurted out, needing somewhere to direct his exhausted anger, “Don’t you want to… to kill them? To hurt others? Like--”

“Wild tales weaved by Albus to turn the public against more open-minded thoughts of progression. You see, the gentry don’t enjoy the idea of being forgotten. Pure-bloods are an interesting lot but satisfied when well-fed power. They need guidance and I have provided. Mr. Potter, I believe I made a mistake before my demise. I believe that death has opened my mind to new possibilities when my mad dash to do _more_ than Albus had struck me blind.”

Slowly Voldemort extended his hand, clicking long nails against the skeletal flesh of His wrist, “I could teach you too, Mr. Potter. I could open your mind to wonders you never dreamed possible. I could _save_ you from this, from _them_ , from mediocrity. I could guide you in a fashion Albus cannot provide and then, once you’ve matured, you too could… _save yourself._ ”

Harry couldn’t slow his breathing. He could feel some great thing widening within him, a chasm of childish yearning that filled his head with miraculous ideals and a sudden thought that screeched, wildly, across his mentality. _I don’t want to die._

_I don’t want to die here. In the cupboard. Alone._

_I don’t want to be afraid anymore, ruined and trapped._

He ground his teeth together and found that he could move again. He could run, couldn’t he? He could embrace death and eternity and never have to deal with the burden of being the Chosen One ever again. He could turn his back on the entirety of humanity and allow Voldemort and the Headmaster both to do whatever they pleased. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he was in this mess, standing before the literal serpent of temptation.

And yet…

And yet…

“This is entirely your choice, Mr. Potter, and while the circumstances are less than ideal there is a great many things we could do. Together.”

“My friends,” Harry croaked, eyes closed as he balled his hands into fists, “I can’t… they.”

“Know nothing.” Voldemort whispered, a soothing and gentle presence despite the constant pound of His power, “They are but children lacking true understanding. There are greater allies to be made. Greater learnings to digest.”

Harry shook his head, physically pained by indecision--  


“I--”

“Do you know how else I managed to get here?” Voldemort suddenly said, “I can feel it… a piece of myself, deep within you.”

His eyes snapped open, his lips flopped--open and closed, open and closed--his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

“Oh… did Albus not tell you? I’m not sure how exactly but--”

Voldemort was jerked, pulled by the strength and power of Harry’s grip as he reached out with a viciousness he hadn’t felt before. The sound of his flesh slapping into Voldemort’s own was deafening, and the metaphysical space around them rippled at the collision of magic. Harry had long since stopped expecting the wraith to screech in pain--after all, nothing about this situation was like the one he experienced with the stone--and something in him had wanted to… wanted to know if he could feel his sudden conviction. His rage. His absolute fury at being left in the dark when all his life he’d had to thrive in it.

He’d deal with the consequences later. They would understand. If not today, then… then someday.

But he refused to be abused any longer, that was a concept he could definitely grasp.

“It hurts,” He rasped, his voice rolling like gravel, “It always hurts.”

Voldemort was silent, his fingers twitching, waiting to curl around his small and dainty grip among such a giant hand.

“I’m sick and tired of hurting,” Harry continued, his chest wheezing, as the _wild_ thing within him made his hair blow in the breeze he could _finally_ feel. “I won’t die for this.”

For _him._

“B-but,” Courage swelled in his chest, making his fury righteous, “But for _you---!!”_

He had to breath past the loathing, past the idea that his Headmaster had allowed something like this to live within him without any knowledge. That someone, _someone_ had to know he was left on the doorstep of cruelty and had lived such madness for eleven long years. He is not ignorant, not completely, but he is stunted and he _knows_ … he knows that in order to grow, he’d need to do _more._ That he’d have to be more than just the Chosen One.

He could no longer afford to adhere to other ideals of justice. He could no longer afford to follow half-formed notions. He must know everything. Everything there was to be offered about his world, so that he was no longer the weak one, the vulnerable one, the beaten one. He needed to evaluate a greater meaning and then spread such meaning like gospel.

For even a child can desire to be worshipped.

Words bubbled out of his mouth, forced from his throat as if he were but an instrument of his own crafted chaos. He could taste copper--his dripping blood, now red and vibrant--upon his tongue. Something _miraculous_ happened around him, something _extraordinary_ , and for once, for _once_ , he would not be punished. Heat flowed around him, warped and visible while the world seemed to bend and collapse on itself until there was only Harry and his equal. No.. not his equal, not really, not _yet._

“ ** _I will follow you to hell and back. I will do whatever you ask and your enemies shall be mine.”_**

The laughter that flowed around them, garbed and crazed, came from more than just one source. The towering cyclone of grays above them curled and became brilliance, too many colors, far far too many colors, for Harry to properly process. Harry’s scar blazed with agony, a living and breathing entity that felt as if it were carving deeply across his skull, deeper than muscle and flesh. Voldemort came impossibly close, His grip powerful as needle like nails pierced his flesh, curled so tightly about his much smaller hand. Harry wasn’t able to see his own blood drip down between them. He wasn’t able to see the intricate swirls and spirals that formed beneath his feet and began to crawl across the ground he stood on. All he could see was Voldemort and the red gleam that burst to light as eyes became glowing orbs that consumed the bulk of His facial features. Closer and closer and closer still, until Harry’s entire vision was that snapping hissing red.

But there was a voice among the storm, soft and amused… interested--

**_“So mote it be.”_ **

And then, they were gone.


	2. rolling

Loneliness had eaten away at him over the first half of Harry's unusual summer. Initially, he'd felt trapped and bitter, abandoned by the two people he'd bonded with. The idea that, perhaps, Ronald and Hermione had found him… unacceptable of their time had been a constant presence, nagging and tugging at his consciousness as strongly as his uncle's physical affirmations of his worthlessness. He'd been thinking particularly hard about this concept the day of his awakening, allowing niggling doubts to distract him, to weaken him. It was something that the Dark Lord had picked up on, initially, his inadequate sense of self-worth…

So, that was the first of many things they worked on.

For, upon their disappearance from that darkened reality, he had immediately been thrust into an entirely different residency. One meant to 'strengthen the pathetic notions of magic' he'd been initially surrounded with. His reappearance, battered and barely conscious, had been enough to startle the beings he was meant to implore himself to. He'd tried to apologize as he oozed crimson over a rather lovely beige carpet, but the most he could do was wheeze and screech as whatever the Dark Lord had initially done to ease his suffering abruptly ended.

_Embrace that pain, let it break you, then become something stronger._

He hadn't understood those words at the time, swaddled in delirium, but he never forgot them. That pain was a reminder that he was alive, meant to be born again beneath a banner of survival, of change. Voldemort had wound them both up, strangling them with an ancient vow of wild magic. Deep within his being, where the idle pulse of the Dark Lord's Horcrux merged magic mingled so well among his own, he knew that phrase would become his gospel.

So, he flopped and he croaked as expensive shoes slipped in and out of his vision, as voices loud and baffled swirled around him, creating a dizzying mixture of feminine and masculine tones. There were three people, soon to be four, that had tended to his bones and flesh, yet much of that night was still an inconceivable blur of happenings.

"Mr. Harry Potter sir?"

A voice, he knew it rather well.

"Dobby." Harry twisted around in his seat and gave the creature that had addressed him a somewhat withering look. While being interrupted from his musing wasn't the worst offense, that didn't make the interruption any more tolerable.

"Yes, Mr. Harry Potter, sir. Mr. Harry Potter should be coming downstairs for afternoon tea with Young Master Draco."

Harry leaned back in his seat, one arm tossed over the back of an ancient and, if Harry was honest, quite uncomfortable chair. "I'll be there in a bit, thank you Dobby."

Old habits die hard and while Harry was certain the little elf deserved very little thanks for what he'd done-for, upon his arrival and subsequent saving, the house-elf had tried to usher him from his new residence, a fact Harry did not appreciate considering this vile thing had also been keeping his mail from him-he was not so cold that immediately dismissing his would-be-horrible-savior felt appropriate.

After all, for his shame and disobedience, Dobby had been punished then gifted to him and Harry intended to keep a loyal house-elf, no matter the irritation that currently brought him. Eventually, Dobby would stop twitching and shaking whenever his new housemates were near and fall into an appropriate and natural routine again. Best way to help that along was an abundance of cordial and polite behavior, he'd learned that much from _The House-Elf Bond & The Lord_.

Well, to be clear, Harry had learned a great deal of things from that book among many others. Somehow, the idea of learning and reading without constant eyes and pressure upon him made the act rather enjoyable. Cathartic in fact and it wasn't one he'd give up anytime soon, no matter how naive people sought to make him.

Still, now was not the time to lose himself within another passage of _The Perfect Gentlemen for Wizarding Children_ , there was work to be done and this meeting, much like many others, was just another aspect of his new existence and he intended to embrace fully. He would make _Him_ proud, after all.

Since, those within this household very much believed him to be _His_ son.

What a mischievous Horcrux.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The Malfoys were a family of impeccable taste. They wore a certain level of haughtiness that bespoke of their wizarding heritage and gave it a twist of royalty. Harry, no longer the ignorant youth of his early summer days, had spent many a night within their family parlor watching them interact with a sort of chilling introspection that may have worried the average parent. He found their interactions alien and foreign and the oddly rare but extremely genuine show of affection that happened to pass between them was an unreal experience for him. He'd only seen such actions, exaggerated for his benefit, between the family of his Aunt and he'd been sickened by the constant play of it. Here, however, here was something real. He could feel it in the heavy thump of magic that sung in the walls and crawled across the ceiling. This was a family, a _magical_ family, who seemed rather chilling for all intents and purposes but…

"Oh, Harry," Narcissa sighed, an idle act of mild annoyance as she lightly brushed back the wildness of his hair and lightly rubbed her thumb across a smudge of ink that coated his left cheek, "Must you be so… slovenly?"

There's a certain fondness in her tone, a type of… affection reserved for him and he can't fault her for her annoyance, nor would he have wanted to. Though he was still recovering-emotionally-from his near-death experience he could understand genuinity and the good Madam Malfoy had been nothing but gentle-or as gentle as one, such as herself, could be-since his recovery within her estate. He gave her a crooked smile, something off, something _different_ , but she accepted it all the same as a silent apology.

"Come along then," Narcissa said, her hand now steady upon the small of his back as she guided him toward a side-room, one that connected to the children's receiving area. "There's someone Draco would like you to meet."

She didn't enter with him, she never did. There was an unspoken respect between himself and his would-be enemy, one that spoke of a brotherhood Harry had never experienced. One that surprised him when he'd found the boy sitting on the edge of his bed with wide eyes as his father had told him-

' _This boy, this boy-'_

' _Potter? Why was he here? Why was he like that?'_

' _Muggles, the Muggles he stayed with. They tried to destroy him.'_

' _What?!'_

' _Things have changed, so much has changed. I feel like… like He's returned. I can feel Him, that same sort of magic but…'_

' _Father, what are you talking about?'_

' _Listen, Harry Potter isn't what he seems, he may have never been. It's His son Draco, I believe Harry is His son.'_

Harry wouldn't correct him. He knew, on some primitive level, that his entire makeup was intertwined with the wraith in such a way that he could very well have become Voldemort's son in some unbelievable fashion. Either way, from that point forward, Draco had been incredibly… well, an agitating clingy annoyance for the most part, with fierce features and a sort of sudden fearful protectiveness that Harry had never experienced, not even from Ronald.

It was cute, in an odd way.

"Harry!" Draco waved a hand furiously, motioning for him to come forward, to be enveloped by a slightly familiar face.

"You weren't telling a fib," A rolling voice said.

"Mr. Zabini," Harry greeted, extending a hand in the perfect emulation of pure-blood politeness.

"Mr. Potter," Zabini replied as he lifted a cocoa-colored hand to grip his own in a firm and powerful handshake, "I heard about what happened. We all did."

"All?" Harry asked, brow quirked toward Draco as the boy stood with hands upon his hips and a broad smile on his face.

"I told them, my immediate circle. I told them that dirty Muggles had nearly killed you. That now you _understood_ us."

Harry gave a click of his tongue against the back of perfect teeth, "You're a gossip."

"I'm an informant!" Draco bristled.

"So, it's true then?" Zabini whispered, leaning closer as he tightened his grip around Harry's hand, "That they…?"

"Tried to kill me," Harry's tone was level, jolly even. He found the entire ordeal exhausting to blab about but interesting in how others thought it weakened him. He would not be defined by the abuse that attempted to steal his prowess, "The Malfoys have been rather generous, taking me in, saving my life."

Draco smiled then, something less maddened and more genuine as he pat his chest in arrogant pleasure, "My Mother is one of the best healers around."

Harry gave a mild nod of agreement, he supposed that was true enough.

"So," Zabini interrupted, "he came then? He really came here… with you?"

Harry could only repeat what he knew Draco had said, but the boy-his friend, he supposed-could exaggerate the most simple of tales. "I've been told that He brought me here. That He tasked the family with my protection."

"The greatest honor," Draco whispered, though his gaze seemed glassy, dreamy, "it's why I brought you here. You should reconsider, Zabini. Father was livid that Muggles had spilled magical blood-"

"How did you end up with them?" Zabini interrupted, "The Muggles?"

"I'm not certain," Harry answered, his words slow and thoughtful, "I have my suspicions. The Muggles, you see, they're blood relatives but they really were the worst sort of Muggles. Soured the whole bunch, you know."

Zabini pressed his lips thin as if there was something he wanted to say right on the edge of his tongue.

"Draco," Harry said, and immediately the blonde went toward the open doors of their room, only to close them abruptly and turn back to face them. Once, and only once, the doors were closed did Harry lift his hand and with a twitch of a finger or two- "It's silenced, speak your mind."

Zabini's mouth opened once, twice, flopping with disbelief, "You warded the room? Really?"

"There's a great deal of things I can do," Harry answered casually, "This is but one of them."

"He's the real deal," Draco whispered, "Tell him, Harry."

Harry tossed Draco a withering look, but the boy only stared back fervently, "He's alive, you know. The Dark Lord."

Zabini swallowed harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing, "You killed Him."

"I vanquished Him. The idea that He was killed is a fantasy, He came to me. He freed me from mediocrity."

"But why you?"

"I'm not entirely certain. It has something to with-"

"The Headmaster." Draco said, "The Headmaster has always been kind to you when he's been kind to no one else."

Harry paused for a moment but nodded, Draco was correct. "I've been given the chance to find out about a great deal of things. I intend to do so all for the glory of bettering myself."

Harry lifted his hands, to stare in idle thought at his flexing palms. He could feel his magic, his _power_ , like a steady humming heat. It twisted along his fingertips, ebbed across his shoulders and caused his hair to billow in its manifested breeze. Draco shivered, his senses acute, and idly Harry swore he could feel the pluck and pull of Draco's core. Just a twitch, just a shift of his own magic and he could have, perhaps, had Draco swaying beneath his metaphysical allure. Likewise, even Zabini's eyes had widened, almost hollow with their distraction.

"That's you?" Zabini croaked, his voice low and hoarse.

"A bit of me," Harry mumbled, head tilted.

For a moment Zabini was still, his knees set to tremble as the pressure in the space increased and his chest heaved. Soon enough he fell into a bended knee crouch, an olde bow meant to display sworn fealty, a position any pure-blood son who craved honor and glory would have known to take.

"Y-you are the son of my Lord."

Harry gave a slight nod, "Yes, I believe I am."

Harry flexed his hand, causing the nearby bookcase-filled with all notions of rudimentary learnings and Quidditch history-to bounce in the sudden quake. Over the last few weeks Harry had felt elation at his magical progress. The power he wielded had been so very deep within him, buried beneath years of neglect and mistreatment. The therapeutic hum of the ancient Malfoy Manor had _healed_ something in him, something small and begging to be nurtured. He could see the advantage a pure-blood child might have over someone Muggle raised. He could _feel_ the magic wriggle along his consciousness, increasing cognitive reasoning and understanding. It was a wonder-and a testament to her ability-that Hermione had done so well among the gentry in Hogwarts.

Actually… how odd, indeed, that she had.

Just one more aspect of his former life he'd have to inspect, he supposed.

Confidence filled his chest and Draco stumbled over to drop into the same one-knee kneel Zabini currently did. Once upon a time, when Draco had questioned his previous friendships and deemed them worthless, Harry had forced him to kneel, to choose between adhering to his way of thinking, his pragmatic flexibility, or to be left behind when the time for change echoed around them. Last time, Harry had not given Draco much of a choice. This time, Draco kneeled in a form of solidarity, in respect.

"I'm giving you a choice, Mr. Zabini." Harry clasped his hands together, looping them at his front, a childish action of falsified innocence, "I have a lot of ideas about how our world currently is and how it could be."

Zabini cleared his throat, "Do you plan to continue His work?"

"His work could use a few adjustments," Harry said, "but he is correct that the Muggles and those that cater to them could destroy our way of life, our very existence, if we let them.

"You see, I've a grand idea. We've weakened, all of us, in the last few centuries. We're torn asunder by the idealistic views of dreamers instead of grounded by our realists. Our culture has devolved, eaten away by-"

"Mudbloods," Draco blurted out, his face twisted in a sneer.

Harry snorted, "No, not just Mudbloods, Draco." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, even if the word left a slimy taste upon his tongue and he wrinkled his lips at the vulgarity of it, "Propaganda would have you think that they were the underlying problem, but it's a lack of education."

Harry motioned for the boys to stand and they did so, even if reluctantly, "The ignorant and vulnerable will roll belly up in the presence of a more dominant and seemingly much wiser figure. If garbage is spewed by the first mouth, then it is easily replicated by the second. Then again, and again, until every household is filled with over-exaggerated notions."

"What do you mean?" Draco whispered.

"I mean," Harry said, "that each faction has utilized the most extreme nonsense to push their agenda. The Light, with its management and categorization of magic. The Dark, with its blame slinging and fear mongering."

Both of his companions looked ill at ease, concerned about the ideals Harry attempted to impart upon them, but he was confident in his ability to get his point across and he knew that two pure-blood children would understand his message far better than any others.

"But Father says," Draco said slowly, "that the Muggles… That their offspring is forcing us to change. To adapt to their sensibilities."

Harry's lips twisted up, a half-formed smile, "Some of them, but the others are just confused and bewildered children, being spoon-fed what to think and how to behave."

Their conversation paused for a moment before Harry broke the silence again, his voice low, like a conspirators whisper, "Do you know what I was told about the wizarding world when I found out about its existence?"

Their silence was their answer.

"I was told that I was The Chosen one. That I was _special_ , and yet all my life I'd been called a freak, garbage, and a great many other things. I was told that I had vanquished Sir You-Know-Who and that that practically made me a celebrity, a hero, royalty-none of this filled me with any sort of ease, by the way."

Harry took a moment to laugh lightly. His experiences felt like another life. Like a dream that he'd barely held onto. He wondered if He had changed him, had infected his thoughts with dreams and startling maturity, "But, when I look back on it, that isn't the oddest thing I'd heard that summer. No, I was told, among other things, that the Dark Lord had been a Slytherin."

Zabini drew in a sharp breath, his brow pinched. It seemed like he already knew the ending of Harry's story, while Draco remained perfectly still, practically statuesque.

"Do you know who told me that? My good friend Hagrid. He told me, well, he told me there wasn't a single wizard in Slytherin that wasn't bad. You know? Abhorred? Loathed? Hated? That was my first impression."

Silence greeted him, but he could feel them, feel their _fury_ in the idle snap of their magic beneath his blanket of potential, in the rolling snarl that Draco released and the harsh downturn of lips as Zabini exhaled loudly.

"And can you imagine how many others they tell that? How many half-bloods? How many Muggle-borns?"

When Draco finally spoke, it was with a tight throat and harsh hiss of, "No."

"Well, I imagine a lot of them. Slytherin is being slung through the mud before a new witch or wizard receive their first wand, you see."

There was a heavy silence among the pair, one that spoke of slouched shoulders and anger.

"When my Father-"

"Forget about your father, Draco." Harry interrupted, "Forget about the Headmaster for a moment, forget about the Dark Lord and focus on me."

Both boys snapped back to attention.

"When we return to Hogwarts things will undoubtedly change. Something is missing in me, something that has been torn asunder and replaced with something else. I was offered Slytherin initially, did you know that? And I rejected my rightful house out of fear of being hated when I was already hated so much beyond those walls."

He took a slight breath, one to collect his thoughts, "However, when word gets out that… a great deal has happened to Great Britain's Chosen One, there may be a call for a proper resort."

He extended his hands toward them both, expectant, his own gaze wide with the fervent passion of the absolute admiration he felt for his initial savior. It was something he couldn't resist, this unhealthy awe and paternal _love_ for his current obsession. "Slytherin _must_ change and we will be the ones to usher it forth! Not your father, Draco. Not the Headmaster. We will right the wrongs of those around us while pulling the powerful forward, shifting the normal structure of purity toward one that respects the hierarchy of _authority._ "

His companions looked taken aback, but they did not scowl, they did not flee and while Harry had them, he would force them to _listen_. "They loathe you, _us_ , because of our presentation. Power, real _power_ , cannot be thrust aside and left to _die_ because of the ignorance of both our parties. It is how we lost magic, _real magic,_ wild and untainted, to the ages. It is how our original cause, our ideals and fight for preservation of our culture, our people, was perverted."

The words that came out of his mouth, so very beyond him but a few moons ago, now flowed with the sort of ease only known to the prodigal.

"So, _we_ will help ourselves to the strong. We will accept guidance and provide it to those who put forth the effort. We will bring back the Olde Ways and champion _our_ people under His banner of reform."

His lullaby had become a savage prophecy, one he intended to self-fulfill. He swept his companions into the frenzy, watched as they stood taller with rolled back shoulders and ferocious grins. They would be ambitious, they would be cunning, they would become the controlled controller, the disciplined disciplinarian, and the lord their world needed before His return.

And He would be proud as Harry laid the groundwork for His absolute dominion. His empire of prestige and power.

"The Muggles are worthless, but their progeny can still be worth _something_. So long as they _obey._ It is their choice whether they allow themselves to be used to push someone's agenda of control and magical suppression or grab the reigns of their true purpose."

For Harry, would not condemn an entire collective of _fresh_ individuals, if some treasures could be found among the supposed garbage they were believed to be.

Draco twisted up his nose but gave a shaky nod. Harry knew there would still be work to be done, to slowly shift the balance of destructive ideals into something more useful. But Zabini…

"And what of those families who are… blood-traitors? The ones who started those lies. I am not some inherently _evil_ scum."

"And the Muggle-borns aren't inherently worthless," Harry answered playfully earning a scowl from his current company, but he soon shook his head, "Their time will come, though I have hope for…"

He tapped his chin, an act of simple contemplation, "For some. I have hope for some. Those who refuse to remain blind."

He allowed them to digest his information before he combed Zabini's person. The boy was certainly angry enough, enraged and impassioned by Harry's words, but that was expected. Harry had, after all, been rather angry as well after his own personal discoveries. Let him boil and stew, and then, when all that restlessness needed somewhere to go, Harry would provide an appropriate outlet… but first-

"No matter what happens, we will spend this year united." Harry's tone was soft, his palms flat and toward his companions, "We will do what we can, because we are more than just simple children."

Then, with a soft exhale he turned to face Zabini fully, "But first… I'm looking for more _friends._ "

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Harry," Lucius voice was a strong and penetrating presence, a command swaddled in a soft tone and the firm grip of his hand upon his shoulder, "do you understand the reason we're here?"

Harry didn't mind the warmth of Lucius hand upon his shoulder, he rather liked the illusion that this man, Lucius, was his father figure. Indeed, perhaps, in some portion of Lucius, beyond the obvious responsibility and duties that the wraith had given to him, there could have been a seed of protective affection there. Harry knew that the Malfoys had certainly grown on him to a point. He was fond of their presence, even if he couldn't quite understand why they had such a thing about affection and touch.

"To view my accounts."

Lucius gave a nod as he guided him into the massive building that was Gringotts. "Yes. You see, I'm curious and I'm sure you're curious, about the state of your affairs since…"

"Yes," Harry replied, "I understand."

There was no need for Lucius to elaborate, especially not out here. While Gringotts wasn't particularly busy Harry was more than aware that this was a peculiar day, more or less the day that most families took their children out to shop for school supplies for the upcoming term. He could hear the rabble, some nearby crowd 'ooo'ing and 'aaah'ing but for the most part he thought it beyond his concern. Dobby would take care of his school shopping, now that the house-elf was more than willing and eager to obey and commit to him properly.

They stepped forward, one unit, ward and caretaker, toward the massive podium that housed a waiting goblin who seemed all teeth and hard frowns. There was nothing particularly inviting about the creature, though Harry hadn't found them delightful his first meeting either. Still, he was nothing if not a proper boy for his hidden father and his summer had been filled with all sorts of delightfully cultural insight.

"Well well," The goblin huffed, leaning forward on the podium so that he could properly sneer down at them, "Lord Malfoy, Mr. Potter."

Lucius gave the goblin a mild look of discomfort and disgust, something that certainly gave off an air of mild annoyance at being addressed in such a manner but Harry only gave the goblin his crooked grin.

"Good day, may your vaults overflow with bones and blood."

Lucius quirked brow and incredulous look was no more amusing that the slight widening of the goblin's eyes.

"And may you conquer and decimate your enemies, Mr. Potter." There's a slight hesitance in the goblin's gaze, a thoughtful cadence in his voice.

"I'm here with my current magical guardian to check on the state of my affairs, Sir-"

The goblin huffed and waved a gold ring covered hand, "No one has attached 'sir' before my title in centuries."

"Respect should be given when it is due," Harry replied, a simple statement but one that seemed to make the shadows within the goblin's gaze twist and glimmer.

"That is true," His gravelly voice gave off a bark of a laugh, something like the harsh squawk of the crushed and dying, "It's Sir Cringecrook."

"Sir Cringecrook," Harry said, "Then I would ask that you summon my current account manager for my guardian."

Cringecrook gave Harry a flash of pointy teeth, the goblin version of a rather nasty smile, before he turned a droll expression upon Mr. Malfoy. "Of course, of course."

With a grunt and a grumble Cringecrook leaned down to whisper something into the ear of a nearby goblin. With a swift nod that goblin stalked away, leaving them to the bank foyer and the emptiness within. It was in that moment that Harry had to appreciate the power and pull of Lucius allure with the Ministry and his rather… cunning ability to grasp temporary ownership of his person-under a clause that determined lost magical children remain with the nearest magical source. This was but one of many appropriate steps Lucius had taken to secure his legitimacy to Harry's person. Standing in the hall of the great goblin nation was another.

Thankfully, they didn't wait long. The goblins were a punctual and swift-acting lot. Soon enough the massive doors to the left of the bank opened and Harry recognized the confident swagger of one of the first goblins he had ever met.

"Sir Griphook," Harry greeted, "I hope your blades have been kept fed and well-cared for."

The goblin almost stumbled, his gaze comically wide, his jaw flapping. This time Lucius chuckled, hand resting lightly upon the head of his elegant cane, "You are just so full of surprises."

"Always," Harry grinned.

The goblin cleared his throat and raised a clawed hand to adjust the tie that now seemed a bit too tight around his throat. "Mr. Potter, I heard you had need of me?"

Harry gave an idle bob of head, "Oh yes, Sir Griphook. My current magical guardian and I have some questions, and plenty of time, if you'd like to answer them?"

The goblin seemed to study him, curious mayhaps about his change in demeanor and the aura of respect sans wonder that clung to him. "I must say, Mr. Potter, that I am more than a little interested in what you wish to discuss. You see, you seem a bit-"

"Different?" Harry chirped playfully, "A little. Your office…?"

With only a moment to spare narrow eyes upon the Malfoy lord the goblin soon turned to lead him toward his private space, though not before he gave a cautious tilt of his head toward the original goblin at the podium with a muttered- "I don't want to be disturbed."

Cringecrook only replied by way of dismissive wave and soon they were off beyond the massive barred doorway of the bank and down an elaborate gem encrusted hall of wet stone and flickering flames. Harry took a moment to take it in, to feel the heady rumble of something _olde_ and wild in the walls.

Right before they arrived at an imposing door.

"Please, have a seat," Griphook said, motioning with an outstretched hand toward the tall back chairs before his desk. With little preamble, the goblin took his own seat on the other side not waiting for the two wizards to take their own before he began to pull out a series of rolled parchments and lay on the desk.

With a practiced grace, now ingrained and instinctive, Harry took his seat-Lucius beside him, face a careful mask of introspection.

Harry decided to break their collective silence, "I am without my key."

This caused Griphook to pause in his action, "No matter, a bloodtest-"

"It is a matter," Harry countered, leaned forward slightly so that his hands could be placed flat upon the wooden desk, "Because, you see. I should have it."

Griphook took a moment, letting the silence stretch before them, "The giant has not returned it to you, then?"

Ah.

"He has not. Is it not mine to hold and care for, Sir Griphook?"

The goblin tilted his head, drawn into the game of careful words and shark-toothed smiles, "I would say it is, Mr. Potter, though it isn't unheard of that a magical guardian would hold onto the key to keep safe."

"Oh?" Harry said, eyes impossibly wide, innocent, "But I was not aware Hagrid was my magical guardian, Sir."

"Mmm," the goblin leaned back. "I'd say it isn't him, exactly."

"So," Lucius interjected, "who might it be?"

The conversation rolled forward, inspired by an innocent inquiry with deeper implications. Griphook's almost amused expression grew pinched. His beady eyes began to narrow as he tapped a pointed claw against the desk. Harry could see the wheels turning in his head, just as surely as ideals and notions shifted across his own mentality.

He was no longer as blind as he'd once appeared.

"We should check," the goblin finally offered, "I'd need to open some files, Ministry mandated-"

"It would be prudent that we do. Preferably while here," Lucius offered, his tone a professional canter, "and perhaps, in doing so, it would be proper to provide a fee for processing."

This made Griphook release a thin-lipped smile, "A fee is appropriate, yes, something very reasonable for the security of your ward."

The goblin said little else thereafter and instead turned to an odd-looking bird of blacks and purples, with a crooked beak and missing eye- "You heard 'em."

With barely a sound the bird took off, leaving the space to fly toward and through a small vent within the office wall. With its departure came a slight lull in conversation, as Griphook waited with the sort of patience Harry had learned to appreciate. Even Lucius seemed somewhat relaxed in the current element, a father teaching his son to be lord of accounts and reason.

When the bird finally returned, it was as if life had been brought back into the room. In its clawed and yellow feet was a heavy scroll which was dropped unceremoniously into the grip of the goblin. "Good fly, Creek."

The bird said nothing, only settled upon his post and glared wearily at the party.

The goblin leaned forward with scroll in hand and with a quick tap of the parchment it began to unravel, "Do you see it here? This is the current assigned magical guardian, due to the absence of such."

Harry was not surprised by the name that glowed a brilliant gold at the bottom of the sheet, it was only one more confirmation among many that no-longer struck him as coincidental. "The Headmaster."

Griphook gave a slight nod, "Due to 'mysterious circumstance', and because he is lord and master of your current school, he was able to claim ownership of your person."

"Of which he has done little to keep safe," Lucius said, a passing note, a lure.

The goblin took the bait, glancing up from the parchment with a slow blink, "Oh?"

Harry sniffed slightly, a habit, before he leaned back, "I am not being guarded by the Headmaster, in my summers I spend time with Muggles, without proper guidance."

Griphook curled his upper-lip, "That is not what we were told."

"And what was it then, that you were told?" Lucius said.

"My assumption is that Albus Dumbledore has your key. Furthermore, through speculation and Albus own correspondence, we were to believe he had taken the appropriate measures to ensure, as the last heir of your line, Potter, and the owner of healthy vaults, that you were well cared for."

Harry gave a slight nod, amused by the notion that Dumbledore had his vault key-a key that he would be sure no longer functioned for a guardian that was horrid at the task. He expected boiling rage, to be swaddled in hatred, to feel the bile of loathing… but what he felt was the comforting numb of a puzzle piece sliding perfectly into place, one more hole filled through proper inspection.

"The Ministry is currently investigating the reasoning behind why Mr. Potter was found wandering my gardens, battered and half dead." Lucius said, turning a brief look toward Harry, who felt no embarrassment over his initial arrival. "It should be noted that Muggles have been caring for the Potter heir, improperly, which can be backed by pensive record."

Griphook's brows rose, he seemed surprised by such a statement, "How appalling, for wizards to treat their younglings in such a manner. Especially one with the importance that he supposedly holds."

"Do not misunderstand," Lucius corrected, his voice no longer that soft allure. His tone seemed somewhat chilling, harsh in command if only due to the nature of their discussion, "A _true_ wizard would hold Heir Potter to the highest degree of security. Furthermore, his value to the wizarding world is irreplaceable, to those of us who truly care for our children. Albus," He spat, "irresponsibility is one of many reasons why we come to you today imparting such sensitive information. I can trust that you won't feel the need to repeat the words we've shared as we both work toward Heir Potter's safety and the fattening of his vaults."

With nose twisted in mild displeasure, perhaps at being addressed in such a way, Griphook said, "I do enjoy the fattening of vaults."

"Then," Harry interjected, "I would be thankful and appreciative for any help my accountant can provide, during this difficult time of hard choices and hard thoughts."

Griphook only gave him a withering stare, unmoved but not due to a lack of empathy, "And as you grow, Heir Potter, within your role and take your place among the wizards who think us only jockeys for their gold, where will I be?"

"In charge of the Most Ancient and Noble Potter vaults, I'd hope." Harry said, but his smile was somewhat off as lips pulled back to reveal teeth shiny and slick from saliva, "At my side, good _friend_ , drowned by the gold and meat of our enemies."

Lucius throat flexed in a silent swallow, but Griphook's eyes gleamed with an healthy amount of interest.

"Then I am more than willing to help, though perhaps a fee should be exchanged as that would be more official as we begin to craft a new key for a _newly_ managed wizard."

With reclaimed, interference free, accounts.

"I think that's appropriate," Harry whispered, though his gaze for was Lucius, who nodded without hesitation.

That was when the goblin laughed, a nail biting sound, full of rattles and a joy that seemed more malicious that not, "Then here is what we'll do."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The day had been more than fruitful, giving Harry the literal _key_ to move forward and Lucius the necessary paperwork to apply for official guardianship. They expected little in terms of opposition. Lucius was a charismatic and fat-pocketed individual, but more than that, he was a skilled politician blessed with the finesse his father had held and his father before him. Draco prayed fervently to inherit such ability, and Harry thought the skills necessary to bring the amount of change he wished to see. So, when Lucius came to him later with evening, with a bundle of parchment, a purple covered book, with pinched brow Harry suspected what he wished to discuss.

"Harry," Lucius said, his person set to linger in the hallway of the library Harry enjoyed prowling in his leisure, "May I speak with you?"

Harry gave an idle nod as he snapped a well-worn edition of _Hogwarts: A History_ closed. "Of course."

Before him the Malfoy lord took a seat, Harry's key in hand upon a simple chain-

"Keep it." Harry said, enjoying the somewhat startled expression upon Lucius face.

The older man gave a soft exhale, "It belongs to you."

"I don't think it would be safe to hold onto at Hogwarts, least certain figures ask for it back to correct the needed changes we made this afternoon."

Lucius nodded solemnly, understanding set to twist in the depths of a wise gaze, "Then we shall speak of these instead."

Before Harry, on the decorated wooden table, Lucius carefully placed several scrolls. Then, removing his wand from his cane, he tapped each one. "These are detailed records of your accounts, dating back to before your parents were removed from this world."

Lucius paused to make sure Harry followed, and once he gave a nod to continue, the older man said, "This is their will."

That had Harry sitting a bit straighter and he leaned over with open palm and held back expectation. Lucius gave him the heavy scroll, with its runic symbols and heavy stench of magic. It wriggled across his flesh, waiting… waiting…

"Open."

At Harry's command the decorative ribbon that held it sealed split down the center and the scroll began to unfold. Whatever magic had held it closed wasn't finished however, for soon enough, as it unraveled, a small box plopped out onto the table.

For now, Harry ignored it, more interested in the perfect script than the object that _pulsed_ familiarity and _power_.

Lucius, the perfect gentlemen, remained quiet as he read. He instead positioned the book- _Stability, Security, & Accounting: Volume I_-beside the other, more mundane, pieces of parchment that decorated the table.

"Heartfelt," Harry whispered, keeping words of private affirmations of love to himself and himself alone but allowing Lucius to know that, though he felt impacted, he was not one for theatrics. Not anymore. Not after **Him.** "But, there is something interesting here."

"Is there?" Lucius drawled, as if he'd already suspected what Harry had _known_.

"Is it unheard of for the relations of pure-blood wizards to remain intact?"

Lucius quirked a brow, perhaps misunderstanding the question.

"Ah, what I mean to say is. Is it unusual for a proposed Light wizard to leave the guardianship of their son to a wizard that might have been Dark, no matter their previous relationship in school or otherwise?"

"Pure-blood circles are very small and interchangeable." Lucius began, "No matter your supposed alliance in term of magical management most of us attend the same revels, the same festivities, and of course the same Wizengamot sessions."

Lucius paused for a moment and licked his lips, thoughtful, but continued when Harry was no more forthcoming with information, "It is not unheard of for enemies to deposit their children with _strong_ or politically _capable_ wizards or witches to ensure their continued existence. I believe that… yes, I believe that even Madam Bones was estranged from her sister and yet she still cares for the child as if it were her own."

"Then," Harry said slowly, "it is not suspicious that someone unexpected is on this list?"

"Is it the Muggles?" Lucius spat, suddenly oozing so much venom that Harry had to glance up from the parchment.

"Oh! No, no." Harry said, hoping to ease the wild _snap_ of Lucius magic. Though the man was very still, Harry could still _taste_ the emotions that slipped from his being. Like soft whispers against his mentality, incoherent and yet still understandable, he could tell that his caretaker was appalled by the notion-good. He wondered, idly, if that was due to his connection with **Him** and The Mark that pulsed upon Lucius skin like some living thing.

Lucius cleared his throat, "There is also the matter that some pure-blood families will choose the closest kin, if need be as well. Blood is blood and, when invoked-"

"It can create a strong nurturing bond between the party and the child, nearly subconscious in nature and yet almost undeniable. Still, very natural. They suppose."

For a moment, Lucius seemed surprised, but his smile was quick to come, "Ah, you've been reading peculiar books again."

"Blood curses are fascinating," Harry chirped, "and it explains a great deal."

"Oh?" Lucius clasped his hands together, "So then, who _is_ on the list, Harry? If it is not your Muggle relatives?"

Harry set the will down and turned it over, careful to only give emphasis toward the list of names, the persons that were meant to provide him with care, "You'll be glad to know they aren't on it. In fact, I was never supposed to be there."

But Lucius had no immediate response, his gaze was glued to the list.

"And you'll also be fascinated to know that I was meant to go to a Sirius Black, my appointed godfather. Do you know of him?"

"Yes," Lucius croaked, but his gaze was still upon the parchment.

"Thereafter, Professor Snape," For a moment Harry was quiet. He searched for the normal sensation of irritation he'd once felt, if only a year ago, at his potions professor. Yet, since his arrival to the manor something had changed in Snape's demeanor. Maybe it was the fact that he currently lived under the roof of his good friend, or perhaps it was the breakdown of fabricated suspicions that the Headmaster had done nothing to shift or change. Their awkward, if not strengthening, relationship was something Harry found delightful… and his reveal had seemed to lift some great burden off Snape's mentality.

Harry wondered what it was.

"There's also an Alice and Frank Longbottom, another set of godparents," but Harry knew what had happened to them… "And a Remus Lupin."

For a while Harry allowed silence to reign between them while he remained thoughtful, curious. He flexed his hand, toying with the concept of magic as he felt invisible tendrils lick across his fingertips and palm.

"And, I understand that, many of those figures wouldn't have had the means to care for a child. Yet, there is one name on the list that made me wonder…"

Lucius finally looked up, but his pale almost shocked expression was gone, replaced by a glimmer of elation and an eagerness barely contained, "Harry. Do you know… what this means?"

"I suspect it means several things, the oddest of which being that my mother might have been somewhat close to Madam Malfoy. The other, being that, perhaps, somewhere in my tree Madam Malfoy and I are related."

Harry, of course, knew the answer to the latter. Dorea Potter connected them on a level that went beyond blood and simplicity. He now had some answer to the fondness he felt for Narcissa, a fondness he didn't much mind but could certainly blame on the Black madness that no doubt dwelled within his family line, a madness that could also translate into a _curse_ meant to create bonds that lasted lifetimes.

Bonds and obedience to certain particulars…

"And you weren't sent to any of us, affiliation or otherwise." Lucius said, the wonder in his tone perhaps due to the abhorrent misuse of power that managed to keep the wishes of the will from being realized, "A grievous error or a purposeful mistake aside, this is incredibly helpful information."

"Of course," Harry said, his attention now captured by the book he'd been brought and other, less obvious, topics.

However.

"The box."

"Hm?" Harry said, fingertips set to caress the binding of the book, "The box?"

Lucius smile was gentle, the discoveries of his will carefully tucked under Lucius arm, "Open it."

He'd nearly forgotten about the box among the intrigue of his past but once it was back to the front of his mind he could feel the familiar _thump_ of its magic and the cry of its allure. With cautious grip, he moved to pick it up, only to set it on his lap as Lucius slid to the edge of his seat and leaned over. He seemed more than a little eager, but in that moment, he seemed _real_ and human. Interested. Invested.

"Harry," Lucius said, breaking the collected silence, "Once upon a time, I revealed a box like this to my son. While I am no fan of James Potter, I am a slave to propriety. You have been robbed of a great many things, but you will not be robbed of this."

Slowly, tentatively, he reached out a hand to rest it lightly upon the back of Harry's own, an action that wasn't surprising and yet still rare in its act. "I do this, not because I have been made to, but because it is _right_ to. I am not your…"

Here Lucius almost stumbled, brow pinched, before he spoke again with a shake of his head, "I am not your father, I am not James nor _Him_ , but I am _here_ and I take my duties to our pure-blood children with the utmost seriousness."

There was a sense of formality about them, something that stirred the dormant magic in the room and made the wards that decorated the ceiling glisten, "When you return to school, it will be with the _right_ sort of guardian. There will be no more summers of Muggle depravity or a barely functional tenure of school recklessness. Though you may be wont for very little, I will _give_ should you need me to.

"Advice, education, or otherwise."

Harry remained attentive, his gaze of curse-green set to shine with slight bafflement. He had never, not even from the Headmaster himself, received such attention and focus. Such a speech of dedication. Of security. Of care. It was almost overwhelming in its intensity, lacking the childish passion of Draco's devotion and _yet_ still so powerful and genuine in its own right. While he had no _need_ for Lucius or his offerings, Harry found himself _greedy_ for them. In just this summer this family had become a part of him, _belonged_ to him, more so than any other. I was different than his immature friendship with Weasley and Granger. Different still, from the awed looks of wizards and witches who saw little more than a cardboard image to blindly worship and puppet.

He wanted _more_ of that. More devotion. More closeness to consume, and manipulate, and _possess._

And he wondered, briefly, if Lucius could see that within his gaze. Could see that hunger that curled throughout him like so much magic…

But the Malfoy lord continued, unaware or perhaps, completely enthralled by Harry's presence and by the duties he shouldered with honest effort. "Harry. Within that box, you will find the first tool to assist with your transformation. It is _yours_ and no one else's. Yours by blood. Yours by birthright and magic as old as the tide."

Lucius stood up then and walked around to the other end of the table. "By the power of the Olde Ways," and here Lucius motioned to the box, "I shall witness the gifting, from one heir turned lord to the birth of another, of a house of ancient prestige and noble backing."

Lucius gave a nod and Harry opened the box, his breath held as he moved his fingertips over the ring it held. There, at its center, cushioned so quaintly, were twisting bands of brilliant color. Green, amber, and soft pale yellow greeted him in lifted gems on enchanted grooved metal, but the magic _welcomed him home._

"Slytherin, by right, through blood and conquering. Peverell, by blood and initial _fatherhood_ of the line that bore you. And Potter, by blood and power, your proper right, your strongest house, your line to this world."

Harry felt frozen, gripped by a momentous moment, swaddled in a cluster of emotion that he hadn't felt for some time. There was an ache within him, some monstrous twisted gratitude for the moment and the rings that he had known of but had assumed lost to time-lost to the will, in this instance. When he looked back to Lucius, to his smiling face and proud stance, he felt…

Like he would need to completely _own_ this family, forever more.

"There is another," Lucius whispered, "One that your accountant hinted at, but it is difficult to currently get to. I suspect Albus has… done something that has made it difficult to claim your last house through blood and inheritance, but I will get it for you, little lord."

Harry had never had a father, had never had a figure in his life to be proud of his accomplishments or present him with a mantle of magic and might, but in that moment-despite his fierce and unchanging loyalty to **Him** -he felt it was adequate to admit that Lucius could be on his way to earning such a title.

"Harry James Potter," Lucius said, "You are now, and forever more, until the passing of your spirit into the Summerlands, the Heir Apparent of House Potter and all the holdings that currently entails. You are Lord and Head. Master and Servant." Then, with a heavy clasp of Harry's shoulder within his heavy hand, he whispered, "Welcome to the Circle."

Of those who held power and coveted it.


	3. arrival

"Harry?"

Her voice was soft, though not unsure. She often poked about his room once the sun set, perhaps to offer the comfort of her presence, perhaps to make sure he wasn't out of place. He suspected it was a combination of both, of attending to a task that was beyond house-elf nannies and making sure her ward was tucked away and secure. Tonight, however, he was awake-wide and unblinking-allowing the brilliant light of the half-formed moon to catch the twisting bands of his multilayer ring.

"Yes, Madam?"

For a moment Narcissa stood just beyond the threshold, perhaps to examine him in the silent introspective manner she often did, but soon enough she released a soft sigh, "I wouldn't wish for you to call me that within the security of our home."

_Our_ home, as if the space was just as much his own as it was theirs. Maybe, it was. Maybe, his presence alone and the weight of his magic claimed this space apart of him just as much as the people were apart of him, additions to his small collection of the _precious_ and treasured.

"What should I call you?" He said, curious if not a little amused. "We're related, did you know that?"

Narcissa lifted a well-manicured nail to tap at her chin, a slight smile upon her lips. "I was told earlier today, by an excited Lucius, yes."

"So, what if I called you Aunt Narcissa? Would that please you."

For a moment she seemed slightly dazed, and Harry smiled, something sly at the idea that, perhaps, the odd spike of Narcissa's magic-a flex of chill and pine-had something to do with a particular blood _curse._

"That would be fine," She said, before unfocused eyes of blue were back upon him, "If it's comfortable with you."

Harry gave a nod, a quick affirmation of his ease with their newly established address before he began to approach her, "You need something."

It was in the way she held her body, in the haughty pure-blood posture of her spine and the furrowed brow that disrupted her perfect mask of arrogant airs.

"Lucius has someone he'd… like you to meet."

"You disapprove," Harry said, stating a fact.

"Yes." She murmured, cautious and solemn.

He could understand that, he supposed. To Narcissa he was, in all appearances, a child. His prodigal nature and eloquent speech aside, there were a great many things out there that could harm him. He understood this more than most, knew that due to the power that swam in his veins and the might that filled his vaults, he could be-and had been-targeted. Due his nature, his _true_ nature, Narcissa left him to his own plans and most decisions, but she still hovered and dotted. It was only slightly bothersome, but not unwanted. He would play his part and cultivate his gentryhood, as was appropriate under her tutelage so that she could feel somewhat in control of his development and protection. At least in this instance, he knew Narcissa worked for a greater need-his survival and cultivation.

She was not Petuna, and that reason alone was why he enjoyed her mothering.

"Are they in the study?"

Narcissa nodded before she made an odd sound, like a worried sigh. "You wish to go."

"I must," Harry answered, but he knew how to please, how to manipulate, and slowly-almost shyly, he lifted his hand to place against hers, "Will you take me?"

If she thought him in need of the extra courage she didn't say, instead she grasped his hand and Harry took care to note that it was solid and firm, heavy, warm within his grip and a tad too tight. Whoever she was taking him to meet she did not seem to care for. At all.

"Of course, little lord," She stated, and while she tried to put forth a semblance of normalcy Harry could sense the frantic flutter of her magic as she pulled it to her command, just in case…

Ah, now he was incredibly curious.

They walked in silence, Harry withholding his questions in exchange for haste. She took him to the massive study Lucius often occupied for business and with only a moment of hesitation, for she would not show weakness here nor to Harry, she lifted her hand to knock briskly.

The door was answered with barely a moment's breath between Narcissa's knock and the hallways suffocating silence. Lucius was on the other side, face drawn in usual Slytherin chill, with only a spark of recognition within his gaze to keep it from seeming like cruel indifference. "Narcissa."

She released Harry's hand, but only so that she could wrap that delicate hand around Lucius throat, holding it, feeling the pulse, but not squeezing. She didn't need to. The threat was clear enough, "If he is hurt-"

Lucius rumbled slightly, his voice a whisper, "He will not touch him, Cissa-"

"I will kill you, Lucius. I will," But her heated tone held a tinge of playfulness.

Lucius swallowed harshly anyway.

"I'll call for you when we're finished," Lucius said right before he lowered subdued eyes to Harry, who smiled broadly.

"See that you do," Narcissa said, before, with only a moment spared to make sure Harry looked proper in his robe and spider-silk pajamas, she turned and glided back down the hall, grace and fire.

"Scary." Harry said, before he moved to follow Lucius.

He made an odd sound in the back of his throat in response.

"A strong powerful woman of the house, isn't she? A bird she may be, but she's still got teeth and claw."

A loud laugh filtered out from the space, the owner of the crude if not truthful words, and once the door closed behind them Lucius swept forward to introduce his current company. The room, though small, seemed to perfectly fit the beings within it. With its green carpeting, deep Oakwood desk, and cushioned chairs. There, against the wall, beside a floating globe of deep amber liquid-a station for Lucius elven cognac-stood a beastly man, whose clothing seemed far too large and somewhat frayed to be worn in polite company. This man oozed bestiality, something that slipped along Harry's skin like a tentative whisper. It was _taint_ , it hummed under his skin and intertwined deeply with his magic. Harry could _feel_ it, could nearly grasp the magic that sang of wilderness and _snap it_ just so…

He approached without fear as the male against the wall moved off, arms crossed and lips twisted up in what might have been a silent snarl-but Harry presumed it to be a smile. "Who are you?"

The man against the wall gave a tilt of his head, "Greyback. Fenrir Greyback."

Lucius moved to place a hand upon Harry's shoulder, "Harry, this is… this is one of _His_ followers."

"Faithful, 'n all that." The man laughed hoarsely, his wheezing tones like gravel underfoot. "Eager to see _the_ Harry Potter."

Harry tilted his head, gaze curious as he combed it over the man, as he listened to the steady pulse of his wildness and magic, "Ah, a werewolf, a creature of the dark."

So, it was fitting that he bowed.

"Yes, he is… touched." Lucius corrected politely, if only because Greyback was currently in their company, "But he is also one of the few that is privy to your condition."

Harry gave a soft laugh of his own, "My condition?"

"Lucius here has told me a most interesting story," Greyback said, "He's telling me that _you_ , The-Boy-Who-Lived, was blessed by the Dark Lord, himself."

There was a declining joviality to Greyback's tone, as if his initial amusement at meeting Harry had deteriorated into unveiled disgust. Indeed, his entire expression soon changed to one of disbelief and irritation, "But I don't see anything special."

Lucius tightened his grip but Harry's shoulder, and while Greyback drew himself up to his full height, to cut an imposing figure, Harry only continued his quiet observing.

"I'm not a fool, Lucius. I don't bow to just _any_ wizard with a fresh scheme and a few galleons."

"I am finding it difficult to see you as anything but, however, since you doubt my claim. I know what I saw. I know what I've seen. What I feel-"

"Hogwash," Greyback interrupted, his gaze upon the dirt beneath his inhumanly long fingernails, "you're harborin' a blood-traitor's son for nothin', Lucius, and not just any kid, this is _the_ kid, the one who destroyed our Lord-who ruined my chance for _more._ "

Lucius' lips twisted up in a sneer to rival Greyback's own expression of displeasure, "How dare you even begin to _fathom_ speaking to me in such a way. Speaking before **him** in such a way, as if he-"

But Greyback ignored his caretaker and instead turned the eerie wolf-glow of his gaze upon him, "You shouldn't even be alive, 'n you aren't much worth the air you breath."

_Enough._

While the exchange between his would-be father and the _wolf_ had been somewhat entertaining the amusement factor had lowered dramatically as Greyback spat out words of _worth_. Harry held little care for the less than astute, and he was _done_ playing the role of the nobody, of _The Boy_ , who was little more than just a face to covet or harm or toy with. He was not a child without value, and certainly not a being without malice. He met Greyback's stare without so much as a flinch and he allowed such emotion to unravel from his person-let the shadows streak the green of his gaze and make them twist and swirl with building displeasure. He lifted a hand to firmly, but gently, remove Lucius grip from his person, but the Malfoy lord had gone somewhat pale and still. Was he still breathing, this man who defended his honor? Was he able to think past the oozing suffocation that rose from his flesh and spread out from his person? Or did he feel the potency of his call, of the lure that thickened his magic and called for _surrender._

Lucius fell to one knee at his side with a gasp, his head bowed, his posture reverent and low. A good lord for his king.

While Greyback stepped back, shuddered as he pressed against the wall with wide eyes and an open mouth. His tongue twitched, a flapping trapped thing, as he throat flexed but was unable to form words. Harry, with tilted head, only lifted his hands and clasped them together, back at his front, the perfect picture of innocence as he spoke with a curious cantor-

One, perhaps, so very familiar to those present, "And, why would you say something like that, Mr. Greyback?"

There was no answer forth coming, but there was something rolling, shifting beneath Greyback's skin, forcing the man to breath heavily and his eyes to bulge.

"Is it because you think that I'm beneath you?" Harry whispered, patient as Lucius shivered at his side and Greyback panted, "Do you think I'm not _alpha_ enough to destroy you?"

That got his attention, or rather, the attention of _something_ , something wicked and vile and _hungry_ that clawed at Greyback's person and made his magic beat against Harry's own.

But, Harry's magic was stronger, broader, so raw and so much _darker._

Greyback's _beast_ , his wolf of madness and blood, faltered-

"I won't have you running wild, Mr. Greyback. You've come into the home of a _lord_ and insulted his charge and his honor. I've been reading a great deal of books, all on the behavior of true witches and wizards, and I must admit that this is a grievous insult."

Harry stepped closer, unafraid as he swept more of his power over the wolf, as he watched him crumble down the length of the wall and press close to the material there. His gaze was wide and flickering, frightened-whatever conscious thought Fenrir once had had retreated, swallowed by the wolf, by the instincts that told him to run or fight.

But Harry wanted him to obey.

"I could demand my pound of flesh and blood in duel. I could ask the magics that be to judge us, embracing the Ways of our ancestors-yes, even yours, I think…" Harry paused here, watched Greyback carefully, and knew by his pale parlor and sweat drenched brow that he had his attention, "But I would much rather like something else."

Slowly Harry pulled back, easing the pressure of his magic from the trembling bookcase and groaning walls. It allowed Greyback to blink rapidly, to breath as if he'd never had air before and Lucius, once so still and silent-as if he could possibly disappear if he remained quiet enough-began to stir and slouched in his once perfect kneel. He waited for the men to recover, for Greyback to sit up against the wall with a weary understanding and his face in his hands.

"And… what would that be?" He croaked, voice almost so low Harry might have missed it.

But he'd been listening and excited to reply, "I'd much prefer your friendship and fealty, as we both await His return."

For a moment there was absolute silence.

Then it was broken by wheezing laughter.

"You bloody scared me, bloke!" Greyback laughed, his expression still haggard and his gaze still a bit frantic, "I thought… I thought…"

Lucius was silent in the background, watching Harry with the sort of intensity of the fanatical. Harry only smiled in response.

"Then…" Harry said, extending his hand, waiting…

"Y-yes…" Greyback said, somewhat sobered and certainly unnerved as he reached out a trembling hand to grip Harry's own, the grip strong despite his terror. Impressive.

Good. Good.

"Excellent, Mr. Greyback. Then I hope I can count on you." And the wolf that hummed in his blood, eager to serve.

"Ah, but let it be known that if you are rude toward me again," Harry tightened his grip a bit in a childish expression of what he could do, would do, with his magic. A slow and complete strangulation.

"Understood, Mr. Potter." Greyback murmured, begrudgingly impressed no doubt. "But how about some of that elven whiskey for my trouble, then?"

Lucius snorted, "No."

Well then.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The sky was an interesting shade of blue, a twisting kaleidoscope of clouds that faded into greys and pale ocean tones. He stood there, beneath the expansive umbrella of nature, and experienced a peculiar serenity that had assaulted him unexpectedly. This was not the first time he'd experienced the Malfoy gardens, nor would it be the last, but something had drawn him past the doorway and out into the open space shared with frolicking peacocks and spiraling magical flora.

Maybe it was the hissing nearby, the soft whispers that crawled across his consciousness, incoherent and yet so easily understood.

He took a deep breath and then released it before he turned toward the gardens, careful and cautious of the creeping plants that wriggled and writhed, unusual and no doubt dangerous to all but the woman who took such great care with them. He had seen her among them once, with a serene smile and her own soft whispers-coos to trembling roses and gentle finger strokes to unfurled leaves-but he knew that he was, like the Malfoy men, another intruder. He wouldn't dare touch them.

Least they also know how to bite and maim as well as they trembled in their beauty.

Instead he carefully crouched, robe hung over one of his arms and bum hovering over the cobblestone so that he would not get his freshly pressed slacks marked with soil.

" _Come to me,"_ He whispered, his lips set to form a sibilant lullaby, " _Come to me, friend."_

There was a pause in the whispers, followed by an odd sound of confusion and for a moment there was nothing but a sweeping stillness-Harry, rocking slightly on his heels, and his _friend_ , hidden in the dangerous foliage.

Then, from the grass, something came forth with scales of silvers and blacks that caught the light of the sun and reflected then brilliantly. Harry was taken aback, his heart set to pound, not from fear of the creature that revealed itself but out of… freedom, the freedom to _choose_ to speak with it, the notion and idea that if someone were to see him he would not be _beaten_ for his enjoyment or demeaned for his gift.

Mentally, with soft prayer, he thanked Him again.

" _My friend, my new friend."_ Harry whispered in low tones, the magic of his voice, of his Parseltongue, crisp and clean in the manner befitting him. His exploration of the Malfoy library and wizarding history he'd once be too lazy to dive into, had been a fascinating reveal. This gift he had yet to display before his _family_ was not meant to be hidden… but his secrets were his own, and he intended to unleash them appropriately. One at a time, he suspected. " _Come here, to me. Let me see you properly."_

The snake in question obeyed, an animal of nearly two feet long, " _A speaker?"_

Its voice was soft and youthful, feminine if Harry wagered a guess, " _Yes, a speaker."_

The snake lifted slowly, tilted its head this way and that, " _A speaker, a speaker!"_

Harry could tell that there was some excitement in the animal. A difference from the somber sadness of the snake he'd freed in at the zoo, " _What are you doing, out here in the sun?_ "

" _Hunting for meat, for shelter."_

Harry hummed thoughtfully, " _I have meat, and I have shelter."_

" _Speaker has meat and shelter…?"_

The snake lowered slightly, an act that Harry understood as thoughtful, " _Yes. I have meat, and shelter, and purpose for you. I need a friend, someone to keep close, to share my thoughts, to teach and in return be taught."_

The snake shifted closer, tongue set to poke near Harry's foot, " _Speaker is powerful?"_

" _I am powerful."_

" _This one is young."_

" _That's fine,"_ Harry said, wanting a creature of similar age, despite the advantage an older more experienced magical snake could provide. There was a bond here, one just waiting to be forged, " _I am also young."_

" _But, speaker is a powerful wizard…"_ The snake seemed to rationalize, perhaps they began to develop the needed intellect the longer they were near humanoid sources of magic, Harry fathomed, " _This one will go with speaker. This one is ready for purpose!"_

Harry smiled slightly and lowered his arm, " _And what is your name?"_

The comforting weight of the snake as it wound around his arm and toward his shoulder felt _right_ and his magic seemed to _click_ into place between them, " _This one has never met a speaker. This one has no name."_

"Harry!" A voice called behind him, "Harry James Potter! Where are you? Get here right this instant!"

Narcissa's collected-and yet, was that a hint of nerves in her speech-voice washed over him and the plants around him seemed to react, swaying closer-ah, naughty things they were!

" _Then we shall find a name,"_ He whispered, standing quickly as a vine swung toward him and-"Ach! Ouch!"

"Ah, in the gardens, are you?" Narcissa's voice called over, and while he couldn't see her he could imagine her standing proudly upon the back porch, sly and wicked, "Quickly, quickly. We mustn't miss the train. It will already be crowded, no doubt. Lucius had our… good friend release the Prophet article this morning and there is bound to be a bit of ruckus. Getting there early is best as I'd really prefer it if we avoided the _Weasleys_ , since Lucius was so kind as to embarrass himself in front of the entire wizarding community the other day."

Her sing-song tone and idle threat was distracting-as was Lucius sudden and loud yell of indignation-but the snapping of the vines at his person was even more so. He sneered, the thought of burning the wayward vines rather apparent, but he had no desire to risk an angry Narcissa and it would take time to pacify her.

If snakes could giggle, he suspected his new companion would have.

As it was, her light hissing against his neck was more than enough to convince him she enjoyed his suffering.

He hastened his walk, eyeing the twitching roots and shifting flowers wearily, " _Jaculus, I think. For a future weapon of warning and speed."_

The snake was silent, but he could feel her squeeze him tighter, in agreement or maybe in fright as he had to hop over a particularly energetic snapping root.

Yes, definitely fright.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"It was brutal, a complete slaughter of the Headmaster's character and the fact that you'd been found as you were by another noble family, will only increase public outlook in your favor."

Draco was talkative, whether due to nerves or the excitement of starting another school year at Hogwarts proper Harry couldn't be certain. After affirmations of good behavior and pure-blood formalities they'd departed from the Malfoy adults to make their way toward the train itself. With their belongings delivered to the train already via well-trained house-elf, it allowed Harry some time to enjoy the hustle and bustle and the odd whisper or two as wizards and witches saw him pass. He'd been waiting for this day, the moment that he would return and properly claim what had been denied him. His proper house, his respect, his visibility. Yet, there was still one thing or a couple of _things_ that would stand in his way.

He'd thought long and hard with how to deal with them, those who claimed to be his friends, those who currently still _were_ his friends, if he forwent technicalities. They had, in fact, tried to contact him before Dobby's meddling but he wondered idly what had happened thereafter and if they had bothered the second half the summer.

"Draco," Harry said, interrupting the babbling of his house-brother.

"Yes, my lord?" Draco whispered, wide eyes set Harry's direction.

"There are things I must take care of, trials to set into motion." His smile was slight but he knew he reflected the appropriate amount of seriousness, "I will not return to how I once was."

Draco nodded slowly, understanding clear upon his features as he turned a narrowed gaze to the sight of a red-headed gaggle, "You'll rid yourself of them, won't you?"

Draco said such with a hint of introspection, and while Harry might have thought him possessive-and rather obvious with his dislike of his previous companions-there was an absence of such behavior here. They would play their part, the part of the ambitious and hopeful, while hoping childish notions bred from a lack of forethought held no weight among them. Harry liked to think his maturity was a sign of his summer growth. A gift granted by his _true_ power, mental ability, and the benefit of a much needed pure-blood education. He also liked to think that, over the course of the summer, Draco had absorbed some of said maturity by being so close to Harry's own might.

Only time would tell.

"I'd like to know for sure," Harry whispered, "Whether they were aware…"

Granger was caged by authority, wound so tightly in the chains of power that even when he'd once believed Snape a threat against his life she had still demanded proper address of him. While Weasley was… loyal, to a point, if a bit bumbling and rough-nowhere near acceptable in terms of propriety, and certainly lacking in a certain amount of intellect for a boy from a once-noble house.

So, were they also puppets, kept bound by strings?

"Father said the Headmaster is an interesting man in that he has a great number of contacts." Draco whispered, "The Weasley family is one of his strongest supporters and no doubt the mudblood adores him as well."

"Language, Draco," Harry said fondly, "I'm aware of their adoration, and I wonder if they… well, it matters not."

His change would not be diverted, his loyalty was firm and unbending. They would fall into place and bow, or they would be forgotten like so many others.

"There is something I've pondered," Harry said, watching the nearby family with a mild amount of boredom as the Weasley madam began to fuss and squawk over her boys and one uncomfortable daughter. "Does the magic on the Malfoy proper enhance and assist with creative reasoning and mental processing?"

Draco seemed slightly taken aback by the question, "Come again?"

Harry gave his companion a snort, "Does it make you smarter?"

Draco tapped a hand against the top of his leg, thoughtful, "It depends on the child, the wizard or witch that is. The more magical potency, the greater and more effective the ancient magic within an ancestral home. However, there _does_ need to be a great deal of magic in the home itself to assist with the process."

Harry narrowed his eyes for a moment at the family, "Does this help by amount of wizards and witches in the home itself, or-"

"By the home itself. The magic that's saturated in the grounds and the building, which doesn't necessarily come with the amount of magical persons occupying it but more like how many years or centuries a magical person of prominence has occupied _and_ invested magic in the space."

Harry hummed thoughtfully, "The Malfoy wards, then?"

"They do more than just protect us," Draco smirked, "They also mask most of the magic _within_ the home too, making it possible for us to practice our abilities without the activation of the wand trace."

Harry nodded, curious, "And the Ministry? They know of this? The true nature of your wards?"

"My Father-"

"Say no more."

"The trace is not activated by wandless magic, of course," Draco was quick to correct, knowing Harry had shown an _impressive_ manipulative ability of magic without said wand lately.

"Of course," Harry confirmed, before he redirected their conversation back to the original topic, "But I asked this because, well-"

Here Harry motioned toward the family, where most of the red-gaggle were loading the train while Ronald waited outside of it, hands in the pockets of his trousers and a tense expression on his face.

"Ah, Sir Weasel's home, I suspect, doesn't have the magical potency to increase his uh…mental processing."

"And his own core?"

"I'd say it wasn't anything special enough to assist in a _significant_ increase in his mental processing. Just enough where he is recognized as a wizarding child. Which, isn't difficult to do mind you, as we're all much smarter than _Muggles_ anyway."

"I see," Harry smiled, somewhat off and wicked, "Curious. How curious."

Draco licked his lips nervously, as they began to walk toward the red-head, "Why do you ask?"

Harry shook his head, keeping introspective thoughts about particular Muggle-borns with interesting ability to himself.

"Find Zabini and tell him this, we will keep my connection to Him between ourselves for now. Those that you have alerted already, those who you wished to embrace me, should make sure to do the same."

Draco gave a swift nod, "And where will-"

"I," Harry interrupted, giving Draco a slight look of exasperation, "Have work to do. Will you be ready for me, at Hogwarts?"

"Of course," Draco replied, sidetracked and effectively distracted.

"Thank you, friend," Harry smiled, "But before you leave, tell me, does the amount of magical potency within you make you more… adaptive?"

Draco wrinkled his nose, "In a… pragmatic manner?"

Harry would not bother Draco with ideals of compartmentation and terms that might have been beyond him-and if Harry were honest, he was still often caught unaware by his own understanding of such subjects, though he felt the power that He had given him seemed to assist with this.

Harry nodded, nonetheless.

"It's difficult to know. I think the ability would have to be within the witch or wizard. The magic itself would… evolve and grow. The core's development would, um, dictate if it were possible…"

Here Draco paused, as if trying to remember lessons he'd been given some time ago, even if he didn't understand the depths of his education. "If another, stronger wizard began to provide differing thought than, maybe, the longer the wizard was in their presence? I… can't remember the exact magic behind it, but it has something to do with… potency, overwhelming the weaker party…? Bonding? Vassalage? Something."

"It's fine Draco," Harry said, just as Ronald caught sight of him. His face split into a wide and relieved smile, before a scowl and a frown quickly covered his features and he began a rapid march in their direction. "Mm, we're out of time."

Without another word Draco turned away from him, attuned to specific phrases due to their summer together, and left, moving swiftly toward a collective of green and black.

Leaving Ronald to come upon him like a hurricane, "Are you okay Harry? What did _Malfoy_ ," he spat, "want? Did he bug you about anything? Are you-"

Harry interrupted him swiftly, holding a hand out and placing it before him. "Ronald… Ron," Harry corrected himself, "Where is Hermione?"

Ronald blinked a couple of times, his shoulders hunched before he stood up a bit straighter, "Holding the compartment for us, I told her I'd wait on you. I…"

There was an awkward pause as Ron shuffled through his wrinkled robes, only to pull out the very article that Lord Malfoy had been swift to release today. He took a shaky breath, article in hand, gaze upon what was not doubt a vile and yet poetic betray of the Headmaster's injustice and his rescue from the Dursleys. He swallowed harshly, adam's apple bobbing, before he tried to speak again.

"M-mum read it this morning. Had a right fit. For good reason though!" Ron whispered, as if their conversation was treasonous to discuss. "She wouldn't let me have it, not at first, but George managed to snatch it and, boy he was mad."

Ron swallowed again and Harry watched him, patient, quiet.

"I… is it true? That…"

Harry reached out to place a hand upon Ron's shoulder. His behavior was strained, and perhaps, as a youth and a pure-blood to boot, he didn't understand how anyone-Muggle or otherwise-could beat a child nearly to death. He was pale and shaken, but more than that, in the depths of Ron's blue eyes, there was a hint of hint of _hurt_ and anger.

How curious.

Ron shook his head and then turned to move toward the train, the haunting call of the whistle jarring enough to shake him from his poor attempt at speech. "Y-yikes! Don't wanna miss the train, We… we can talk about this in the compartment."

Harry, seeing no immediate reason to reject such, followed Ron without preamble. There was an odd tension in Ron's back as they moved, something that seemed to ease the closer they got to the compartment Hermione held for them, and upon entrance to the space she was quick to get up from her seat, somewhat flushed from her cheeks to her neck.

"H-harry!" She blurted, another copy of the article held between her fists. "I… w-we tried to contact you and-"

Harry slipped into the space, past a frozen Ron, and right up to a trembling Hermione, "Did you?"

Hermione leaned back slightly, pupils somewhat dilated as she furrowed her brow, "Of course! Of course we did!"

He knew they could feel his magic, the rolling curl of it against their skin, a gentle prod here and there they might not have understood… "I received nothing."

Hermione straightened a bit, her expression one of defensive indignation… before it crumbled into slight confusion. She lifted a hand to rub at the back her neck as she groaned, "I just don't understand h-how or why! I swear I addressed it properly and… and after the first few letters I was so sure…"

She didn't finish her statement and instead her gaze wandered back to the article still clasped firmly in her tight fists.

"W-we… we thought the worse, my brothers and I." Ron said, only pausing in his speech to slip past the threshold and close the compartment door, "We even, uh…"

Ron coughed, while Hermione remained eerily silent, her gaze on the paper, "We even s-stole my father's uh… Muggle-mobile."

That, oddly enough, made Hermione snort, but Ron paid her no mind.

"And we went to those… those…"

Ron's voice was a curious rumble, a harsh hiss that ended with him shaking his crumpled paper in his hand-

"The Dursleys, Ronald." Hermione offered, an automatic correction.

"Them, yah," Ron mumbled before, with a shake of his head, he continued, "but you weren't there. We thought about knocking, yelling, anything, but there wasn't even a feather out of place."

Silence hung in the space before them, tense and thick with things left unsaid. He found their hesitation to voice their ideas somewhat bothersome, but there were shadows in their gaze, twisted up doubts and proclamations. Hermione, with her vivid opinions and pinched brow, seemed on the verge of speaking but Ron was faster, speaking his mind without much thought to the damage of his words.

"Where were you? Did you run away? Did they really, you know, h-hurt you like it says?"

Most wizards would swear by the Prophet but he was not in the company of _most_ wizards. He was in the presence of two _children_ , raised and born into an era of worship when it came to the figure that ruled their school. Indeed, he felt somewhat removed from their naive deductions and nervous airs, but they couldn't possibly understand his _awakening_ nor the purpose that gripped him. Their lives, though not pampered, could have been without hardship which only strengthened their disbelief that something so vile could have happened to Harry, of all people, their precious Boy-Who-Lived.

Then again, this was a difficult topic to discuss and confront, the idea of abuse. He could not blame them for their… lack of tact and understanding.

But he could blame them for other things.

"You were too late, you know. When you came, whenever you came, Ron… you were too late."

Harry turned to his _friend_ , the first, with gentle tone and callous words, "How long _did_ you wait before you tried to rescue me? How many letters did you send to no response?"

He cast a glance from the corner of his eye to Hermione, to make her aware that she was not free of his scrutiny, "The Prophet has not lied to you. They were awful, the _worst_ sort of Muggles, trusted and endorsed by our Headmaster."

To this Ron swallowed harshly, face flush as he croaked, "No no, no he wouldn't have done that. Not.. not on purpose. He couldn't have known-"

"He knew I didn't like it there, Ron." Harry corrected, "For good reason. He told me I was safer there-"

"They're your relatives, you _were_ safer there." Hermione said, though her tone was tentative and her eyes had dropped back to the article, "This, this can't be… true."

"I was there," Harry whispered, and while he tone was somewhat venomous he found it interesting that Hermione had slipped into a defensive state, crafting excuses to uphold a throne of lies. "And yet you dare to tell me otherwise? That I was treated any better than the lowest house-elf?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose, but she didn't dare spare him a look, "It's… a few chores, Harry-"

"A few chores?" His tone was incredulous, he wanted them to realize that they were… overstepping.

"Hermione," Ron hissed as he drew a hand through uncombed hair, "There were bars on his window."

That made her snap her mouth shut.

"They wanted to keep me caged, you know. They hate magic, they hate _me._ " Harry said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them, "It went beyond chores and discipline. That last night, the night I _ran_ , he hurt me badly."

And Harry had yet to repay the favor, something that would need to change and soon.

"D-don't you think that it's all very suspicious? That maybe they were under some sort of spell-compulsion, perhaps-that made them act so violently?"

Ron looked thoughtful, but Harry could feel his somewhat amused expression falter, shifting into a cool apathy. He felt his magic react, spreading from his person like an unfurling blanket, chilling their small compartment with just a _taste_ of his ire, of his _disappointment_ in such a notion, that his _word_ was not enough to sway them, not enough for _her_ , and that she believed she intrinsically knew what must have been when he'd been the one to live through the pain and the terror and the fear.

Perhaps, she needed to experience such things, before she found herself more sympathetic to his cause.

Ron spoke, his voice shaky while his eye-lids fluttered rapidly, impacted by the pull of his magic despite being unaware that it was Harry that made his palms feel slick and his breathing short. He let it weigh them down, watched as Hermione hunched over, her gaze flickering back and forth from Harry to the article with a sudden unsureness that Harry didn't think she'd ever experienced before, "W-we should try to find out. T-there has got to be a reason I… Harry is great, so why would they hurt him like that? The H-headmaster must know!"

"T-that's it," Hermione muttered, "The Headmaster would know. He could help you Harry. Maybe clear up this mess."

"Mess?" Harry rumbled, that one word an echo of disgust that made Hermione flinch and Ron swallow audibly, "I have no desire to go to Dumbledore-" He paused for a moment, to narrow his gaze of green as Hermione opened her mouth to _correct him,_ before she slowly shut it and cleared her throat, unnerved, "for any sort of assistance. He put me there, _Hermione_."

He rolled her name off his tongue as if it were something displeasing, and indeed, being in her presence was somewhat displeasing, but more than that, the way Ron seemed curiously introspective was somewhat _off_. Or maybe their dynamic had always been this way, Hermione set to dictate while he and Ron followed like eager sheep to a beat none of them could see. She was somewhat controlling, and certainly bossy, with an attitude of superiority that came from little while he had done _so much._

And so, it was time for a lesson in humility.

"He left me to those Muggles, spelled or otherwise. I was there to _die_ , no matter the circumstance, and were it not for the Malfoys-"

Ron flinched.

"I would indeed be dead. And so, one must ask themselves what is currently more important at this time. My life and security, which the Malfoys have promised me-"

"But they, they're Dark!" Ron blurted.

Harry ignored him, "Or the discovery of why Muggles thought it proper to do what they've done to me."

Hermione swallowed thickly, but it was Ron who spoke up, almost frenzied by Harry's speech, "Harry! We, we would never even… I just… what if it was a trap? What if… because of the stone? T-the Malfoys?!"

He seemed broken, or maybe it was panicked, by the prospect of his saviors. "I've spent all summer with them, Ron. If they were untruthful in their desire to care for me, I very well would be dead."

There'd been plenty of time for them to do something to him, but he'd been treated with nothing but kindness.

"M-my mum could have cared for you, Harry. W-we still could!"

To this Harry snorted, "And yet you barely thought to take me from that place before the end of summer."

And he would not live among the barely functional squalor of the Weasley family, putting a strain upon their already strained finances, moving from one prison to another-caged in by obligation for something as small as affection. He already received plenty of such at the Manor without price or expectation.

Ron rubbed a hand down the length of his face, flushed in a manner that made his hair nearly indistinguishable from his cheeks, "But they are… they're _Dark_ , Harry. They can't possibly be good for you."

"And my previous residence was _certainly_ not good for me." Harry drawled, pressing his influence upon the occupants until Hermione-with buckling knees-fell back onto her seat and Ron began to instinctively move to the side of the compartment, further from Harry, and out of his _way._ "But I have had enough discussion about my well-being for one day."

"Harry," Hermione croaked, "We _do_ care."

And, on some level, Harry believed that that may have been certain. But, it scarcely mattered now.

"Then, Granger, do be a dear and prove it."

His usage of her last name seemed to startle her, so much as that she flinched.

He only gave a soft sound, a signal of his amusement, before he turned to leave.

"Harry!" Ron blurted, standing despite the pressure that came from Harry's person, a feat that could have been chopped up to his bravery or a lack of insight, "Where are you going?"

"Ah," Now Harry turned to face them, hand upon the handle of the compartment, "To pay my respect to the family that saved me by spending some time with his son. It's all very polite behavior, Weasley."

Ron blinked once, then again, "But…"

He made a lackluster motion of his hand to the compartment, "We haven't talked all summer, I doubt a little more time apart will bring either of you harm."

Then, with that crooked smile set to display perfect teeth, he turned… and left.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

" _They hurt, master."_

" _Good,"_ Harry whispered to his companion, whose body was mostly hidden beneath the bulk of his well-managed robes, as he stepped down the length of the train, a great burden lifted from his person. His talk, while unpleasant, had not been unfruitful. His _friends_ were swaddled in doubt, startled by his change and, certainly, unnerved by his dismissal. He thought he would mind more, that guilt would tighten his throat and pain at their callous-though, in their own way, somewhat concerning-words would send him spirally back into a well of self-doubt and loathing.

Those feelings were absent, replaced instead by the familiar warmth of his magic and the numbing distinction of his logic. Excitement bubbled and clawed at the edge of his consciousness, dampened only by his need to appear relatively unbothered by his ordeals. He wrapped himself in a cloak of indifference, content in the calm that spread from his mind-and the pulse of his scar, a reminder of his mission, of his… determination to do what was _right_ , instead of what was _easy._

His world was his own, the ownership of such granted with his awakening. He would do things for his betterment, so that upon His return the world could bow properly.

" _You wish them to suffer?"_ His companion hissed.

Harry narrowed his eyes, lips pressed thin to repress a small smile, _"Through suffering we learn humility. Through suffering we grow our understanding."_

They would not be the only ones to experience his ire and school of thought. But, perhaps they'd be some of the first.

"H-harry?"

Harry paused in his walk, the voice at his back familiar and of interest. It was not the first time his name had been called in the hallway, for many of Hogwarts students were curious about his trials, pity or sympathy reflected in their spying gaze, but this was the only one he would have stopped for.

"Neville," Harry said, cordial to a fault, "How are you?"

Neville began a slow and cautious approach, like weary prey set to size up a possible predator. His hands were grasped tightly around one another, and his youthful face seemed pinched with worry. They were not particularly close, Harry and the squibling, but they had shared a dorm together along with some end-of-year dramatics.

That clearly meant something to Neville, "I'm fine Harry but…"

The other paused for a moment before he shook his head, "I just wanted to say that what I read in the Prophet this morning was _horrid_ , and while I understand why it was there… to have your business displayed in such a manner is probably unnerving. Still, I am… upset, that y-you were hurt over the summer in the manner you were."

Harry quirked a brow, surprised by the admission as Neville cleared his throat and continued on, "I understand that the Malfoys have asked to be your magical guardians. I… am not sure how they treat you there but if you need h-help I'm sure I could convince Gran-"

Harry laughed softly, his expression one of mixed interest and caution, "The Malfoy family has treated me with nothing but kindness, respect, and reverence. I have felt more secure there in just these last few months than I have anywhere else."

Neville gave him a strained smile, his gaze one of disbelief, and yet- "Then that is enough for me."

How strange was it that Neville believed him? That he listened to his words without proclamations of political alignment or over concern. Did he truly trust that Harry knew what he doing? That he held a deeper understanding than most of his own situation? How refreshing.

"You've changed," Neville whispered, "It's in your, um…"

He made an idle motion with his hand toward Harry's overall person, as if to express that the change had been overall and all-consuming.

"I have," Harry chirped pleasantly, "I feel stronger now. More sure."

Neville stared at him, solemn, "That sounds amazing, Harry. To go through what you have and come out so… confident. D-did the Malfoys h-help with that?"

"Do they frighten you, Neville?"

Neville jerked for a moment, before he fiercely shook his head. Though the change of subject was abrupt it wasn't unwelcome, "N-no, not for a moment! It's just that, e-even your magic feels different. Overwhelming and, I wondered if… maybe…"

His voice trailed off and he made a slight sound, a sigh of defeat if Harry had to guess, "Neville, would you like to come sit with me?"

The boy blinked slowly, "Ah, with Hermione and Ron?"

"No," Harry said playfully, "I'm trying something different. I'd like to make even _more_ friends and, I think that you could use more… stability. You should be around others that understand you, _us._ "

Pure-bloods.

Heirs.

"A-ah, Harry they… those like Malfoy, they think I'm just a squib." Neville said, though he was quick to snarl out a- "I'm not though, I just… bloody hell, I just need…"

Harry clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, he knew what he needed, "Come, this way."

With a lazy motion of hand Harry bid Neville to follow.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

There was an unspoken rule on the Hogwarts train. One Harry had learned rather quickly on his second venture upon it. There was a certain social contract established by the students, one passed on from the highest year to the very lowest. Each house seemed to stick to a general order, and though Harry was not privy to the hierarchy of houses beyond his own-which had seemed wild to Harry, with far too much impulse and very little structure-he had a particular understanding of the overarching rule set. Houses claimed sectional compartments, six or seven per house-year, which tended to consume entire train cars versus a more scattered and _interactive_ placement. Gryffindor tended to flex their political muscle with its seventh years claiming possession of the secondary or third train cars for the house proper. Their positioning was mostly based on randomization, on whether they would get to the secondary train car before Ravenclaw, or if the Quidditch Captain decided to take a seat in a compartment in the third. This year in particular they had managed to secure the 'glory' of the secondary car, with Ravenclaw in the fourth through a measure of bad luck and being pushed out by an uncharacteristically rowdy and restless group of Hufflepuffs that had commandeered the third.

But the first car, had _always_ belonged to the Slytherins.

"H-harry," Neville whispered, "Is it okay for us to be here?"

Harry laughed softly, almost bewildered by Neville's sense of fear, but he had not spent his summer among the gentry-children of the elite.

It only made sense that Neville feared a powerful hexing.

"This way."

Tense, but curious, faces peered at him from claimed compartments. A few were carefully controlled, masks of apathy and disregard while others were open and sneering, confused or delighted by his plight.

Harry ignored them all until he was before one compartment, which opened as if controlled by his very presence. Not entirely untrue, Harry mused.

"Heir Potter," Zabini drawled as he stepped to the side, "welco-"

But his voice was cut short as Neville, once hidden behind Harry's person, tripped over the threshold into the almost literal den of snakes.

"L-longbottom?" Zabini whispered, thrown off by his appearance.

"We've much to discuss," Harry said, cutting off any complaint from the occupants within the compartment, one of which-Goyle-had risen from his seat. "Sit."

Draco swallowed slightly and gave Goyle a _look_ , some cross between demand and concern for his person if he _didn't_ follow Harry's order.

He sat.

"Neville, take a seat."

The compartment was nearly full, occupied by Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe on one side, and the open space that Zabini had once settled in on the other. He presumed that the empty space had been left behind for him, incase he'd felt compelled to join them. Indeed, while this hadn't been his initial intention, it would do more than well enough for the discussion he wished to have and the privacy he wanted to covet.

Neville filled in the open spot while across from Nott and once he did the boy in question looked up from his open book, frown in place and gaze somewhat pensive. It wasn't until he turned to look from Neville to Harry that he took a deep breath and shot up from his seat, almost comically startled by his presence but certainly not unprepared. He was the only boy in the compartment that Harry had not seen over the summer, and the only _unknown_ in the space to know his secret, his purpose. Crabbe and Goyle had accepted him easily enough, with their frequent visits to the manor under the obvious banner of grooming them for Draco's vassals and Zabini had, of course, been more than willing to depart his own home for fear of 'being swept away by the over-eagerness of love', a hunting remark in terms of his mother.

Yet, this boy, with his rather thin appearance, large eyes, but impeccably combed hair, had yet to be brought to heel.

So, Harry, in a display almost casual, lifted his hand-taking great care to make sure the gleam of the lighting above caught the haunting beauty and mystic of his heir ring-in an offering of peace and exchange, "Heir Nott. May your growth be prosperous. We have not officially met."

Nott was carefully withdrawn, far greater at keeping his trained mask of indifference than Draco had been upon their meeting, but his gaze was drawn to the ring and his expression was tight. He knew the semblance of the offer, and he understood the power of Harry's gem, that much was certain. Perhaps, it bothered him to know that Harry, a meager half-blood, nearly broken and starved, had surpassed him in terms of future prestige. Harry could see it in his gaze, in the idle twist of shadows that crossed ocean-blue eyes and the way his lips pressed further together as he prepared his speech.

Then, there was a release, a gentle sigh that was expressed past flared nostrils as he lifted his own hand, his simple, but no less striking, ring of twisted black and yellow gem set firmly on the hand he shook Harry's own with. For a moment, his grip was firm, unyielding, and Harry returned it with crooked smile and deep chuckle. But more than that, he felt his magic slip from his flesh, moving over the other heir with a firm _strength_ that could not be denied, one that made Nott's eyes widen just a fraction.

"Congratulations on your elevation, Heir Apparent Potter." Nott said, his tone a tad soft, as if he weren't very used to talking, but his mask did not slip and his voice remained steady. "I've been waiting to meet with you."

"Thank you, Heir Nott." Harry said, while Neville watched the display with disbelief but gave no interrupt. "Were you terribly busy over the summer?"

"Not in particular. Though, I was absorbed by my studies."

"Oh?" Harry murmured.

"I have… aspirations," Nott muttered, "Father was not entirely satisfied by my ranking last term."

Harry nodded, needing no further explanation. Nott had been fierce competition for Hermione, both of them ranking rather high overall in terms of academic achievement. Harry had thought it rather grand that Hermione, a Muggle-born, had managed to be, and quite often, more proficient at magic than the pure-bloods that had harassed her. Yet now…

"I find your achievements rather inspirational." Harry said as he released Nott's hand, "I, too, spent a great majority of my time among the Malfoy library in hopes that I could increase my ranking as well."

For a moment, he allowed silence to reign between them as Harry made an idle motion of fingertips, one Draco knew well enough. Magic leapt to his command, crisp and sudden, but controlled and put to focus. It swept from his person and moved over the occupants, prompting a shudder from Draco, who nearly swayed forward and a harsh gasp from Neville, who pressed further back against the couch.

"Warded," Zabini croaked, wanting to assure a stiff-backed Nott that what was to be said would remain within their realm of secrecy.

Nott bobbed his head in understanding.

"I find it odd that a Muggle-born was able to rank so highly last year, a Muggle-born with no prior knowledge of our world."

Draco was quick to interject, "She's cheating, that's all there is to it. Somehow, she's cheating."

Nott's face twitched and Harry must have thought he tried hard to repress a sneer of agreement.

"Hermione would… would never-!" Neville, said, starting to rise.

"It's fine Neville, I don't _really_ think she's _cheating_. There is magic in place to prevent such things. I merely wanted to raise the question to Heir Nott."

That seemed to pacify the lion and he sat down with a heavy thump as breath released from his chest in a 'woosh'. Draco merely wrinkled his nose in distaste, but it was Nott who said-

"I… understand that there is an oddity surrounding mudblood Granger." He paused, perhaps, wondering if Harry would have a reaction to such a term being used toward someone Harry had associated with.

Harry gave him nothing.

"And," Nott then continued, posture less tense, as if relieved that Harry had passed some unspoken test. "It is not one I have been able to discover, though we often toss speculation around in Slytherin dungeons."

"She's stealing magic and smarts from real witches and wizards," Crabbe blurted, to which even _Goyle_ , seemed to give him an exasperated look.

"I can't imagine how," Zabini quickly said, if only to keep the red-faced Neville settled in his seat, "That's just rubbish."

"Hogwash, I agree. One cannot simply _steal_ magic. Our bodies are maintained in such a way that our cores are unplottable. There is certainly an ability to _share_ magic, to pull it or push it into another being in the manner you spindle magic into and from a familiar, and maybe even potential for growth through advanced ritual, but it is beyond any of us."

Including Harry himself.

"I've heard of that, the bond and share theory," Nott said, and while his tone still kept a careful level of caution there was a sliver of passion among his words, as if this were a talk he'd been waiting to have with someone who might have understood, "There's a bit of material on it, extremely obscure, by Herpo the Foul in how he managed to bind-"

Harry's soft laughter interrupted Nott's explanation, and he clamped his mouth shut with an audible _snap_ at the idea of ridicule. So, Hermione was not the only one that enjoyed a good lecture, was she? Was this the reason why Nott was often so quiet, keeping to himself and his own inner thoughts?

"Please, don't be alarmed. There is much to discuss before our arrival and while I, too, am interested in the obscure now is not the time to investigate it." Harry said, "That was my fault. Let us put aside our talk of summers and theft and focus back on the task at hand."

Nott gave a slow exhale, whatever embarrassment or anger he may have felt set to melt away with Harry's admission, but he was hesitant to speak again. Not because of what Harry had done, but because…

Harry followed Nott's line of sight to his company, Neville, who looked between the two of them as if they'd both grown extra heads. "Is everything alright?"

"It's just that. You… the Slytherin's are so…"

"Welcoming?" Harry offered.

"And," Neville continued, "You… you're a heir. And, and you just _know_ how to act around them, like it's instinctual."

Harry cast a casual glance to his hand as the men in the space settled around him, amused, with idle smiles that seemed neither malicious nor kind. They had their own language, silent yet effective, of shifting eyes and casual motions. They were observing them, like kings testing the strengths of separate courts and in that environment, it was no wonder that Neville looked nervous, with his hunched over form and fidgeting hands.

"Sit up straight, I will not talk to you while you behave like some plebeian servant."

Harry's voice was a whip, his magic a _snap_ against his company, one that he knew Neville could practically _taste_ as he took a shaky breath and sat straighter, back against the cushion and lips trembling. Harry turned to face him fully, head tilted ever so slightly as he pondered the boy beyond his nose. The Slytherins seemed to subconsciously shift, one great wave of interest as they, too, sat straighter-held captive by his magic and the rolling curl of his authority.

"Better," Harry commented, "But not perfect. How long do you plan to play at idiocy, Neville?"

The boy in question grew red in the face, his breath released in a hiss of offense, "What did you just say?"

"They call you a squibling, you know. Those of the noble and brave in Gryffindor. They think you're incompetent, for a boy of a noble house. It's laughable, they say, that the legacy of Longbottom has fallen to _you._ They think you're worthless, an outsider of barely any talent and wonder, just how, you managed to become a Hogwarts student, let alone a lion, at all."

Had this been a public ploy, a spat meant to demean and devalue, the Slytherins in the compartment might have been laughing at his words. But the truth of them stung, reached within his current company and slipped them into an unbreakable silence. They were not unaware of Neville's lack of worth, they had goaded him more than once in the previous year. Yet, to hear such fact laid down before them, naked and raw… it was more than just shocking. It was, Harry suspected, unnerving.

For he did not taunt. He did not bait. He sought to take Neville's current perception and shatter it. Let the boy be strung up by his failures.

So that he could cut him down.

"So, then I wonder, as one member of the Circle to another, how you continue to persist in a role of stagnation. We are young, _you_ are young, and yet we've already been judged and marked and _tagged_ for weakness. And, Neville, my friend, you are _weak._ "

He let that statement hang in the space before them while his carefully crafted silence, only shaken by the rapid breathing of embarrassment, shame, and _fury_ , spilled past the open mouth of the Longbottom heir. He wanted it to thicken, to hang as heavy as his own might and _absolute confidence_ , so that Neville would be forced to toss his gaze upon Harry's own and see, reflected there, the churning pit of his disgust.

"H-how _could_ you?" Neville sputtered, but Harry was pleased by the lack of tears, pleased by the rage that swirled darker flecks of green among Neville's abnormally lighter shade. For one split moment, they were _brothers_ , held patchworked together by obligation and the expectations of others. Their only difference was Harry had torn free from the chains of his suppression while Neville allowed them to drag him down.

"I won't let you suffocate," Harry whispered, his tone no less chilling in delivery, but Neville leaned forward with one balled fist, his lips pulled back and teeth set to grind as he strained to hear him over, what Harry assumed, was the rapid pounding of his own heart. "There is no more need for these _games_ and airs of vulnerability."

Confusion shifted briefly across Neville's expression, erasing shame but leaving more room for a building _loathing_ of those within the compartment. Harry could tell that the only reason he had not risen from his seat to defend his honor might have been due to the sheer number of those Harry held under his sway. A smart move, Harry was pleased to note.

"You haunt these halls but a shadow of what you could be. You accomplish a fraction of what you _should_. I've watched you Neville, you're fumbling, and we've all grown weary of your self-crafted bondage. I know you hide behind nervous smiles and ineptitude, but something _else_ is in there. Clawing to get out. Tapping against your ribcage. Tap, tap, tap."

The trembling of Neville's fist eased, and though he did not lose his expression of ire, what slithered through his gaze was something far more interesting: fear.

And _understanding._

"Y-you don't know what you're talking about," Neville hissed, but his tone had changed, strengthened perhaps by his indignation. Harry could tell he was _thinking_ , carefully backtracking through cruel words to pick and peck at the meaning. "This is _all_ there is."

But it wasn't with resignation Neville spoke, and Harry was somewhat amused by his lack of excuses. Did he truly believe that he could do nothing else? That his power had peaked when there was so much more buzzing and rolling beneath his flesh? Harry very well presumed that, if Neville had so desired to draw his wand-

"Give me your wand." Harry said suddenly, his power a heated press.

Neville balled up his face, but the full force of Harry's _attention_ was upon him. Despite his tremble and his clear desire not to, he found himself almost thoughtlessly removing his wand from his waist holster and handing it over. Harry, only reached out to grasp the sturdy wood, a thoughtful 'hmmm' upon his lips.

"Whose wand is this?"

"Mi-"

"Do not lie to me," Harry said, with just the slightest bit of… annoyance, one that made the Slytherins press just a bit closer to one another, as if they could hide within one another, instead of beside one another.

Curious that.

"My father's," Neville whispered.

This caused Harry to quirk a brow, "Your father's? As in, Frank Longbottom's wand is in your possession for use as your wand of choice?"

Did he know this before? Had he heard Neville muttered a phrase or two, back when he'd been so _blind_ to everything because he'd known _nothing_?

"Yes," Neville said, with more conviction in his tone and determination in his gaze.

"This is why you've failed. Why everyone sees you as _nothing_. Your magic sputters and chokes as it fights to be free. You've been _purposely_ suppressed by those who were meant to elevate you."

Neville's face took on a peculiar shade of green, "T-that can't be true. We can't be certain of that. Gran said that he said-"

He cut himself off, mouth open, pupils dilated as he lost himself to memories and ideals far beyond Harry's reach. He bit his bottom lip, first firmly, then harder and harder until blood began to well in the indents and dribbled just slightly down his chin. His chest swelled with a deep inhale and he held it while his once distant eyes began to focus and sharpen and-

Harry's nostrils flared as they were leveled upon him and suddenly Harry saw a lifetime of weariness, of terror, of confusion, of long nights spent wondering _why, why, why_ collide and _boil_ to create a vicious anger that only Harry and his company's presence probably kept in check.

If they hadn't of been there, when the _dawning_ swept over him, Harry wondered just what Neville would have done.

Instead, he opened his mouth once, twice, and ignoring the blood he croaked out a- "My parents were taken from me when I was young."

There's a sharp intake of breath in the compartment, perhaps due to Neville twisting that _look_ upon Draco, who sat straighter and hid his unease rather well, Harry thought.

But then, Neville's attention was back upon him, "You-Know-Who's followers came for them." His voice was strained but steady. It did not shake like his pupils seemed to, nor did it tremble like his twitching fingers, "They were _changed_ by a… curse and became unresponsive. That was when Gran became regent of my family. "

Harry did not interrupt and neither did his company. They waited, all of them, with a patience Harry was pleased by, for Neville to finish.

"Gran told me that, in those first few years, they were concerned I was a squib. She left me, sometimes, with my uncle who… promised to bring out the _wizard_ in me." But he had always been a wizard, "He _did_ things to me, things I could not explain. Things I barely remember. Things Gran never knew because I kept them, ashamed at my lack of magical prowess."

There was a hint of vulnerability in his tone, of a private horror and a great deal of _respect_ being expected of those that listened to it.

He continued, "Then… then I got my _letter_ , and _he_ came," He licked his bottom lip, dry and bleeding still, "He told my Gran he was so proud, so excited, to have me _here._ "

Neville spat out that word with so much venom that Zabini flinched.

"And that he'd be honored to… that if I could join with…"

His voice petered out, strangled by the weight of sudden understanding, leaving behind only a suffocating silence and budding implications of realized _betrayal._

Suddenly, Draco spoke from his seat, "It's fine. I see you, Neville. I see you."

And in that one moment Harry felt _something_ click into place, some unspoken _thing_ that was born from experiencing a childhood of purity, of heirs who knew they would _have_ to be heirs, and brains that had to work far too fast to understand concepts so beyond their current maturity. To the left of Draco, Goyle grunted his affirmation while Crabbe looked somewhat forlornly out the window. Even Zabini gave a slight nod of understanding, and while his was not of an Ancient nor Noble house, his mother still had a frightening reputation and that alone had gained him a bit of… notoriety and political push.

He closed his eyes, and then, as if embolden, Neville continued, "He told my Gran to give it to me, this wand." And despite his anger he still spoke of the wood with fondness, a testament for his admiration of his father, "And that I must uphold his legacy. He'd be disappointed any other way."

Slowly, Neville hunched forward, his voice almost contemplative, if not for the anger there, "Gran did not allow me to get a new wand. Dumbledore said something to her and she just…"

"Obeyed," Harry interrupted, knowing that he would uncover a pattern, "His political clout would no doubt subdue even her, the Regent of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom."

"This entire last year has been _hell._ I was sacrificed-"

"You were manipulated in the same manner your Gran was manipulated, and while there is fault and blame, there is one point of reference at the heart."

They didn't have to say his name to know who Harry meant.

"The past cannot be changed," Harry said, his gaze drawn to the wood in his grip, to the intricacies and the craftsmanship and the strange hum of power that ebbed there, a slight thread, dark and thin.

How odd, that.

"But our future can be twisted. Manipulated. Controlled." Slowly Harry tightened his grip, "So we must make a decision and regain mastership of our very being in the present. Do you understand?"

Neville stared at him wearily, and only when the boy took a drawing breath did Harry look up from the wand and back to the heir in question, "And what could I do, to change my future? How could I become more than _this_?"

Harry delightfully noted the disgust in Neville's tone at his own state of being, but pushed forward, "I _like_ you Neville. I believe in your ability. I _see_ it there..." Harry paused, before he motioned to those behind him, "We, those of the Circle, can help you."

Neville was, perhaps, too tired to put much strength into his incredulous look. His expression of righteous anger had left him somewhat shallow and numb, and yet…

As Harry allowed the silence to stretch between them, he could see the flicker of something _more_ within that gaze. Desperation? Hunger? In the depths of Neville's being, where those shadows twisted and the flame of inspiration attempted to ignite, there huddled _starvation_. It curled in on itself, a growing cannibalistic storm of sudden comprehension, the look of a boy who had been given _nothing_ only to be presented with _something_ to grasp and hoard and covet.

Neville wanted a great many things, Harry knew. He wanted to be respected, to walk the halls of their illustrious school without the hook of slander set to carve into his flesh. He wanted to get back the year, the _time_ , he'd spent subjected and weak and _worthless_.

But more than that, he wanted to _belong_ , to feel a part of that grander ideal, to bond with those who _understood_ the plight of the responsible child, who had little room to make mistakes and only endless pathways to failure.

So, Harry called out to him, to that weak trembling child, to the filthy disgusting _thing_ within Neville, and coaxed it with _sweet_ promises. There was only one thing, one aspect of their fleeting reality, that would bring Neville _security_.

And that was self-worth and _power_.

"Do you trust me?"

For a moment silence stretched between them, tight and so so _real_. Harry could sense a tremble within Neville, a flicker of his magic, of conflicting concerns and caution. Yet, soon enough, what slipped past Neville's lips was a word spoken with a calm finality-

"Yes."

And it was then, with Harry's darker shades of murky green set to peer at Neville's own-so light, so innocent, so open and suddenly eager, ready, and _needing_ direction, that Harry raised his other hand and palmed the Longbottom wand between them both.

Without breaking eye contact, without a twist of his lips or even a blink, he gathered strength to his grip and _snapped it._

The sound echoed loudly in the space, a great sealing piece of _finality_ that had Neville's nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. At his back he heard Draco give a sharp exhale, but Harry's attention was on the boy.

_His_ boy, his _brother_ , Neville.

Whose face was drawn, whose gaze was shiny and wet, but there was no weakness, no explosion of anger. Only that shared understanding.

Harry carefully pocketed the pieces and was interested to note that Neville didn't even watch the movement of his hands. No, he continued to stare unblinkingly at Harry, who gave him all the focus he deserved, it was only once the wand halves were carefully put away that Harry spoke, his voice a curious purr-

"Neville, it is unfortunate that you've suffered an accident. A hasty Slytherin Prefect is an oddity indeed, but when one has a purpose they don't usually step aside of ickle second years, do they?"

With Neville's tilted head the only sign that he was listening, Harry continued, "In his rush he's kicked the pieces of your most precious possession about, scattering them into the dark recesses of a compartments nooks and crannies. In your desperation to find that possession you missed the face, the identity, of your hasty aggressor…"

Neville slowly stood, his posture tense, yet something in his gaze was relaxed, accepting.

Good.

"So, it is no wonder that you have to go to your Head of House and ask, rather regretfully, to be taken to purchase a new wand so that you may continue to academically participate within Hogwarts proper."

With a slow blink Neville bowed his head before he turned to exit the compartment, one hand opening and closing as he came to terms with the situation and _himself_.

"When you are whole again," Harry whispered, as Neville touched the handle of the compartment and the shimmer of Harry's ward rippled across the door, "you will find me."

It wasn't a question nor a request, and Neville wouldn't interpret it was such.

And yet…

Neville tensed as Harry took a step, then another, and was suddenly pressed against his back. With one hand he reached out, to place his fingertips-so much smaller than Neville's own-lightly against the back of the trembling hand that held onto the handle. There, together, Harry paused, his shorter stature making their position somewhat unnatural but not cumbersome as he shifted just slightly to the side. He wanted to be able to place his face beside his own, to allow the curtain of his growing, maintained-and yet, there was still something so wild about it-hair to hide the glimmer of fanatic _possession_ in his gaze.

No need to scare his good _friend_ away, not this one.

"You cannot hide from me, Neville. From this. From _us._ You belong to the Circle and power begets further power. I see you Neville. We won't be slaves to weakness again."

When Harry stepped back from Neville, to release him from the captive weight of his very _presence_ , he found it oh so amusing that Neville could move so very fast without tripping over the threshold.

Maybe that was progress.

"Now, Heir Nott. Let us talk about the future and _your_ place in it and thereafter, perhaps, you'd like to discuss the eccentric experiments of Lord Herpo the Foul."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They were upon him as soon as he exited the train. He'd expected as much.

Mostly because he hadn't thought to find them while he'd been _on_ the train, so great was his business and the knowledge of the Nott heir in comparison.

"Mate, just wanted to say-"

"Incredibly, ah, rude of me to have been-"

"-nobody cares about any of that and I certainly-"

"-it would appear that I've upset you, which wasn't my-"

Harry allowed them to babble over themselves as he moved forward, hands clasped behind his back and head tilted as he contemplated their nervous admissions and awkward body language from the corner of his eye. They kept pace with him easily enough, Ron and Hermione, despite the words they attempted to speak with little regard to whether he digested them. They practically tripped over one another trying to get their point across, and Harry had little desire to interrupt the act of it. It was just a good thing that he had sent his court ahead of him, as they would have been far less tolerant of the babble than he.

"-I just wanted to say-"

"Sorry, sorry I just didn't really understand-"

Harry held a hand, wishing for silence, and with an awkward sort of sound they both squeaked into a moment of quiet.

Harry savored it for a moment, before he turned to see Professor Snape motion almost restlessly in his direction. It seemed that their _apologies_ had taken the entire trek up the autonomous carriages that would take them to Hogwarts.

Ah, no, that wasn't true.

What was hitched to one of the rocking carriages was a great _beast_ of black, with folded wings and angular features, so very visible… It might have been startling had he not been prepared to view the creature, though he wondered what death he had witnessed that allowed him to see them with such clarity. Was it Quirinus, whose flesh had burned and blistered at the end of the last quarter? Or was it-

Ah, well, there was no need to think much on his curious summer spent with the Dark Lord practically riding his person. Those were secrets that were meant to remain tightly backed beyond the _wildness_ of his… queer occlumency shields.

"Snape-"

"Professor Snape," Hermione whispered, through her gentle correction fell on deaf ears.

"Is waving to you, mate." Ron's tone was somewhat terse, tinged in disbelief and annoyance. Harry figured it was due to the interruption of his oh so heartfelt apology. Granted, both of them had seemed sincere in their admission to him. He'd think on that later. _After_ the Sorting Ceremony.

"So he is," Harry said, amused now by the slightly cocked brow of the professor and the scowl that was starting to pull at his features, "I best not keep him waiting."

Oddly enough, neither Hermione or Ron disagreed with that assessment, especially considering that the professor was beginning to stalk toward them, instead they took a step back-Ron, with a bobbing adam's apple, and Hermione, with a slight frown.

"Good luck," Ron mumbled, right before Snape was upon them, his hard features directed not at Harry, but at the company that crowded his back.

"Mr. Weasley," Severus drawled, with enough mild venom that the boy rolled his shoulders back, "I assure you Mr. Potter will need nothing of the sort, and certainly not from you. Though, I must admit, a great deal of your achievements have been backed by that, _luck._ "

Ron's brow pinched and his lips turned down, but there was no flush of embarrassment like Harry expected, only a sharp jerk of his head as he lifted a hand-trembling, Harry noted curiously-to weave through his wild hair. Hermione on the other hand.

Well, she was watching him, not the professor or Ron's fidgeting.

So, he gave her a… off smile, one devoid of warmth and interest. No, he was... Well, he hadn't decided just yet what he was. Curious, yes, but there was no use in mustering up some grand gesture of friendliness. Besides, he was already attending to a merciful service by saving Ron from wilting under Severus immense gaze of distrust and, in turn, disgust.

"I apologize, Professor. It wasn't my intention to keep you waiting. Shall we go?"

Hermione had a question poised on the tip of her tongue, but a withering look from Severus had her swallowing the ask. There would be no more gabbing.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. As much fun as this is, you've a task to attend to. The third carriage, if you would? I will join you shortly."

Then, without another word he moved to stalk between the pair at his back and Harry, feeling no need to address them further, moved to obey the given order.

It would, certainly be, the first and last order he received and obeyed for him, but for good reason.

"H-harry, do you want us too-"

Hermione's question at his back was cut short by a voice tossed over shoulder-Snape's to be exact, "No, Ms. Granger. He does not need nor want either of you to join him in the third carriage."

With a flinch she was unable to hide she turned stiffly to walk in another direction, her grumble low, her tone irked. "Yes. Of course. Right."

Well, that was a first, and even Ron seemed hesitant to follow after her, since she was not normally in such a mood that she'd cattily mumble about a professor's diction toward her. Still, with slouched shoulders he followed, only pausing briefly to give Harry a lackluster wave-

Which, Harry, of course, did not return.

Instead, he focused ahead and stopped spying upon his _friends_ from the corner of his eyes to peer at the willowy girl that dared to interact with the thestral before the carriage. As he drew closer she paused in her petting, only to tilt her head and whisper-

"You're here."

That was enough to raise a brow, "I am."

She gave a soft sound of interest, but never thought to turn and face him. A mistake, when encountering a stranger, he thought. Yet, she carried herself with such a strange _air_. It was in the line of confidence among her shoulders, in the dreamy almost distracted cadence to her tone. It was like she was there, and yet, beyond him. He could… sense something, something that buzzed about his consciousness, some idle hum that slipped under his blood, and yet… was it magic that sang to him? Some sort of _rawness_ that oozed off her person like a natural cloak?

Yet, as quickly as the sense of it had come to him, it was gone, leaving him almost disorientated in the absence of it.

She smiled at the thestral, something slow and hazy, "Sorry, that wasn't meant for you, yet."

He smiled back, nostrils flared and teeth on display, "Name."

She didn't hesitate, which was pleasing to him, "Lovegood, Luna Lovegood, though I surmise that may change."

There's a… curious quality to her tone, and her gaze is pointed skyward, to the darkness and the skies and the answers they never gave. Still, eventually, her eyes lowered and the shifting shadows of silvers that nearly paled into whites, was settled on him.

"I'd like to share this carriage with you, Harry Potter."

He sniffed slightly and motioned toward the door, he wouldn't tell her no. In fact, he stepped up lightly to open the door as she made action to enter. "You are aware of me."

It's not a question, but a fact. His fame often preceded him, an intense annoyance.

"All the pieces, they fit differently, but they do _fit._ " She replied, eyeing him in a manner that was both so terribly _off_ and unfocused. Like she wasn't _seeing_ him, or bothering to.

He sat across from her, hands clasped together on his lap, tented, interested, "I am nothing like the stories that speak of me."

"Nothing like them," Luna confirmed, head tilted, eyes wide, far too wide. He thought, for a moment, she might have repeated his words in surprise, but her tone was too assured, "far too many pixies for that to be true."

"Oh?"

Luna lowered her gaze for a moment, if only to play with the metal ring around her finger, something that looked far to commonplace and ordinary to be remotely as important as a promise of lordship. In fact, Harry might have thought it the ring-pin from a metal _can_. "There are many would-bes, many will-bes. Out of those many woulds, this is the would where you wouldn't- _be_."

Harry blinked once, then again, "I beg your pardon?"

She only smiled, something he might have described as coy, but not on her features, "What sort of ritual circle did _He_ use? I imagine it was rather quant. It's all very fascinating, but it seemed to go well enough. I don't think anyone else will notice for some time, actually."

That made him freeze, made his brows practically recede into his hairline, made his hand twitch as he went to grasp his wand-because he wanted to be sure, needed to be sure, whether or not she spoke _coincidental_ nonsense or-

"Mr. Potter-"

Snape's voice came from the doorway, an unwanted interruption that Harry had half a mind to send away, but one look back at the girl made him pause. That, naturally, drew Snape's own gaze and soon enough he was addressing her, instead of him.

"Ms. Lovegood? Were you not informed that this carriage is restricted for Hogwart's personnel and those they invite therein? Furthermore, as a first-year, you should have been directed toward the waters-"

She took in a sharp breath, a gasp that sounded more like a curious ' _mroewl'_ than a draw of breath, "I was not told, Professor."

"Then, I assume you are unaware that-"

"I was not unaware, not really."

Snape narrowed his gaze, "Is that so? And I'm to believe then, that you entered this carriage with some understanding that it was _not_ to be entered?"

"Some understanding," She bobbed her head innocently.

Whatever else Snape was about to snap at the girl was silence as Harry raised his hand, his own gaze narrowed at their exchange. This first year, with her odd behaviors…

Well, he didn't want to let her out of his sight just yet.

"Professor. Please, come in."

Severus hesitated, his mouth opened as if he might argue, but they had wasted enough time and Snape-for all the fear the students held of him-was not about to forcibly attempt to remove the child. So, instead, with a grunt, he slipped into the space and shut the door.

All too soon, the carriage rocked with their motion.

"Position," Harry drawled lazily as Luna turned her attention to the sprawling countryside, cooing whenever something caught her fancy.

"Last carriage."

Harry kept his gaze upon the girl, "Did you have trouble?"

Snape gave the girl a look, his hesitance clear, but Harry waved the concern away. They could always obliviate Ms. Lovegood after the meeting, but Harry had a… sense about him, one that poked and prodded curiously at the being across from him, seeking that _raw_ response he'd been met with earlier. Whatever she heard was inconsequential, and he would _make_ that rather clear.

Only her slight humming made him aware that she _knew_ he was trying to peel back the layers of her mediocre magical core to find that _buzzing_ otherness again.

This might be a problem…

"Lucius pushed, rather strongly, that as your magical guardian-officially, since two days before yesterday, were you aware?-that he can demand a resort if past trauma may have prevented the correct house placement."

Harry nodded, privy to this information.

"Upon our arrival, you will be resorted, though I would prepare to be detained by our illustrious Headmaster before that takes place. My assumption is that he will wish to speak with you, under the illusion of briefness, about the happenings that took place to land you in Lucius care. He was quite…"

Snape paused, perhaps uncomfortable with giving such information with the girl in the carriage.

With a sigh Harry turned to address her, "This information is about my wellbeing. You are aware."

"I am aware."

He was not surprised, she seemed specifically placed, "Are you meant to be here?"

"It is a good night to make friends," she drawled, "the darker pockets are meant for shared secrets and magic bonds well under starlight, so I've heard."

Harry snorted and leaned back, before he motioned toward Snape to continue. One thing was certain, Luna was not some spy set upon him, he suspected. He left that classification to be earned by _others._

No, there was too much genuinely in her very _being._ She did not _hide_ from him. She'd _come_ to him.

She was strange, but he intended to keep her. For now.

"He was _concerned_."

Harry wondered how much.

"He thought, at first, you'd been accosted. That, maybe, the suffering portrayed in the Prophet had been done to you by Lucius himself. He imparted to me, and those present-the other professors, Potter-that they should take great care to watch you for further signs of abuse from your new magical guardian."

Harry tilted his head, "How did they react to that?"

"Minerva was…" Here, Snape sniffed slightly as his lips trembled. Harry realized he was repressing a laugh, "rather furious. She didn't much care for the way he immediately dismissed the Muggle's hand in the abuse and blamed another. That she had suspicions that they were The Worst."

Harry had a feeling, by the manner in which Snape said those last two words, that they had capital letters.

"Naturally, some of the others, Flitwick in particular, was more concerned about your mental state and why you hadn't come to anyone for help after the first year."

Silence dwelled between them after that, but Harry knew there was more to the story, that Snape hesitated, not because of the girl, but because he could feel the slight curl of Harry's magic and the _chilling fury_ there. Luna shivered but didn't turn her gaze from the window, and instead began to blow on the glass and draw little figures in the fog left there.

"Did you tell them, Professor? Did you tell them-"

"I did, Harry," Snape whispered, his hands clasped with one another, as Harry's magic licked across his flesh to purposely share his cultivated rage-and in return, Harry could feel Snape's own magic twist in response, taking on _his_ emotional response.

He felt so much, his poor professor-guilt, shame, loathing, rage, confusion, bewilderment-but most of all there was _loyalty_. Loyalty to him. Loyalty to his wellbeing, and that was an emotion Harry would be sure to hoard and manipulate and _keep_.

After all, did he not own some portion of his professor through bond to Him?

"It was not my intention, not at first, but I could not… would not… allow that question to go unanswered."

Because Harry had come to Albus, had hinted at pain and agony and a lack of love… but he'd been sent back, sent back to suffer, to _die._ And, had he not nearly done so that summer, then certainly the next or the next or the next-

"I told them that you had come, that you had begged. You said as much. I told them that I had been there, to protect you at the manor. That I had been called to help _save_ you by Lucius himself when there had been so much _blood._ " Snape swallowed harshly, for a moment lost in some memory Harry was not privy to, before he returned to himself. "I told them that Lucius and Narcissa, that the _evil_ Malfoy's had paled considerably upon seeing your state. That their fright and despair came from your state of being, not your title or their alleged allegiance to Him."

Snape tossed a look out the window, to view the towering castle that came closer and closer, "I told them that I was not _impressed_ with our Headmaster's claims, that Lucius had done nothing but share joy and pride in your management and that I would never allow you to return to those _Muggles_ again."

Who still _lived_ , oblivious and unknowing of what they'd _caused_.

Snape sniffed, an act meant to get ahold of his mask, to draw his emotional response back into the recess of his person, even as Harry greedily sought to pull it back out, to _feed_ his response so that he could _devour_ it, dissect it, truly understand it… and then use it later.

"I did not say much else thereafter. Minerva had begun her shrieking again-you see, she was very upset at the fact that you had suffered, as she is… _was_ your Head of House and felt responsible for your agonies-and the room devolved in the sort of chaos that could leave any man cowed."

With a soft rumble of his chest Harry gave a nod, "Then, nothing else of worth was said at that particular meeting?"

Snape shook his head, a slight motion that he caught right before he spoke again, "Nothing. At the end Minerva, as angry as she was, claimed that she would see to your comfort-more as Deputy Headmistress than Head of House, of course. The other professors made similar sounds of agreement. Albus, no doubt humbled, agreed that the best thing to do would be to see to your recovery, for no doubt he believes you to be some poor broken _thing_."

Luna made a sound then, some cross between a sigh and a giggle that faded easily into the silence that came over them. With a near echo of the noise, in a manner that seemed to both capture Luna's attention from the window and delight her, Harry allowed that silence to reign.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Harry, my boy."

His voice carried throughout the hallway, over the curious heads of awe-struck first years and toward the 'boy' in question. Harry briefly considered playing at ignorance, at ignoring the figure that caused those in attendance to part from their place and spread before him like separated water. He held a peculiar grace, one that screamed concerned and parental, but his expression was off. Harry could see it now, the _twinkle_ to his gaze, the strained downward smile that wrinkled his cheeks and the pinch of his brow. In that brief moment he was being examined. Poked and prodded with a gaze far too _sharp_ to be gentle or genuine.

It was so very different from Lucius cautious glances, so very _wrong_ compared to the blind friendship inspired adoration of his budding circle. And idly, with mild interest, Harry noted that he _could_ tell the difference. He wondered if that was due to an extensive study in being _cared_ for properly by a collective of Slytherins or if the _pain_ of his trial had broken his ignorance to such facts.

Thoughts for another day, he supposed.

"Headmaster," Harry drawled, respectful, polite, _patient_ , "Good evening."

Dumbledore paused before him, hands behind his back, no doubt hidden among the many folds of his elaborate shimmering robes. It was easy for Harry to focus on him, to look just slightly to the left of his pressed thin mouth and ignore the wave of whispers that had started up from the new years still hovering in the hallway. For a moment they stood like that, Harry unwilling to offer anymore words or noise to the collection about them and Dumbledore with tilted head and flared nostrils.

Yet, all too soon he spoke again, "Harry. I'd like to speak with you."

Of course.

"Is it about what happened this summer, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore didn't bother to act surprised, he was painfully aware of what had happened over the summer, at least the public portion of it. "It is, I'm afraid. Which is, undoubtedly, a shame. I know you've no doubt had to talk about it quite a bit."

Harry nodded, his eyes wide but his expression lacking any solemn attitude. He was carefully empty, devoid of much other than his constant curiosity and _thirst_ for more. "No more than necessary."

The Headmaster nodded, as if in understanding. Harry only quirked a brow, he couldn't possibly _understand_ his previous suffering nor the horror of exposure, a horror Harry refused to feel but could certainly acknowledge. He was meant to be vulnerable, betrayed by those that held his blood when he'd always been betrayed by the system that placed him there.

"Come, come." Dumbledore said, ignorant of the tumbling storms that shifted ever so slightly beyond Harry's gaze. His own was focused on the nervously shuffling students, before he furrowed his brow. What was he looking for, exactly?

He turned either way, to shift toward a private alcove, not out of sight but far enough that the rumble of excitement faded into a dull buzz beyond them.

"Harry," Dumbledore started, "it has come to my attention that you were greatly hurt over the summer."

Harry nodded, played the fool, even as his magic felt hot and heavy within him-begging to be used, to twist and rise and burst from his person with all the emotion he felt carefully contained. He twisted those feelings instead, took their solid weight and turned them into churning smoke. He breathed in. He breathed out. Inhale. Exhale.

"I almost died, Headmaster." Harry answered, calm, innocent, as the _blackness_ within him hissed and whispered, "It went beyond being _hurt._ "

"And what did you do, Harry? How did this… come to be?" If Dumbledore attempted to be careful with his words, Harry suspected he'd done a poor job at it.

"What did I do?" Harry whispered, a playful drawl to his tone, one that Dumbledore did not miss as his lips parted slightly with the intention to interruption. Harry would not allow him, "I was a child in a household that _hurt_ me. It was bothersome for them, in the end."

Dumbledore paused and the silence hung between them. Potent. Heavy. Soothing for Harry, who relished the quiet.

"But it seems unusual, Harry, for them to attack you in such a way." He broke it with soft words meant to coddle, or maybe to confuse.

Harry blinked, "It is not unusual. They have been attacking me, hurting me, for some time. I told you this, last year…?"

The Headmaster tossed his gaze to the left, then the right, as if the words would escape their small space and insight the wrath of his deputy again. "They had you doing chores, Harry. I suspect they had you do chores again-"

"Correct," Harry interrupted, his tone a soft chirp of interest.

Dumbledore continued, "And we had decided, together, that maybe there had been an exaggeration or two in your explanation to me last year. That, maybe, you had been awed and greatly influenced to stay within the wizarding world due to it being something new and mystical."

For a moment Harry was quiet, quiet as the smoke within him filled his chest, as his lungs constricted and his throat tightened. He… smiled, eased the pressure within his body and kept his _magic_ within him, where it festered and gurgled. So hungry. So _furious_.

"True."

"So," Dumbledore said, slower now, as if concerned about Harry's expression. Or, maybe, he thought him on the verge of a childish tantrum. "I just want to be sure that this, right now, is not an exaggeration. That Mr. Malfoy has not asked you to say these things, things that can be damaging and hurt your family."

With a slow lick of his lips Harry tilted his head, "I would never want to hurt my _family_."

For the Malfoys, were in fact, his _true_ family. But more than that, he would never want to hurt _Him_ , his savior, his _god_ , his _Lord._

His family.

"Then you can see how this article can be vicious and confusing to others?"

"Yes, of course Headmaster."

"So then, I ask again, if you could tell me exactly what happened at the Dursley residence?"

Harry linked his hands before him, contemplative, while his mind continued to twist and shudder, a storm that bade him to _speak_ , "I reached for a plate to clean, I was washing the dishes you see, and it leapt to my hand. An accident, I know not to use magic beyond these walls, of course."

Dumbledore listened intently, unaware that Harry's gaze had shifted, that he was looking _beyond_ him, to the tall imposing figure with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils at his back.

Harry made his voice just a bit louder, allowed just a little bit of panic _real panic_ to slip easily into his tone. He drew upon those memories, upon the wild need to survive, to stop the pain. Upon the eagerness, the maddening crazed desire to submit to death-or to _Him_ , and _end_ his weakness-and he used it, embraced it.

He trembled, "He came at me, fiercely, without warning. He knocked me from the stool and I hit the ground, hard. I can't remember what broke, because so many things _were_ broken. I don't know what he used to destroy me, only that I had been destroyed. I remember the cupboard-that's where I slept, where they locked me away, with only the spiders and the dark to keep me company-and I remember the blood. There was a lot of it-"

The figure, feminine in shape, began to draw near but more than that, he could _feel_ the controlled hum of Snape's magic at his back getting closer.

"I remember thinking 'all of this is mine, and it's leaving, forever' and I remember wishing I could do anything, anything, to stop it."

The Headmaster had a peculiar expression on his face, one that spoke of frustration and disappointment-at Harry or the Dursley's, he'd never know. But beyond that there was budding understanding, a growing horror for whatever Harry described.

"When I opened my eyes, the pain was all consuming but I was _gone_ from that place. I woke up in the Manor with Lord Malfoy. He had found me, _me_ , and he took me in."

Now Harry grew excited, now he lifted his fists and balled them, pumped his hand in a childish amount of joy that he knew made Dumbledore's insides twist. Let him look upon it, his _adoration_ , so very _real_ for this family that he no doubt abhorred. Let him look upon it and mistake it for _love_ of Lucius, instead of an _obsession_ for his true savior. His Lord.

"I'm so excited. He said he'd care for me. That I'd never experience pain again! He said he went to school with my father, my mother, he told me about them! This summer was _wonderful_ , Headmaster, and they were ever so kind to me. Me! The _freak!_ "

Dumbledore snapped open his mouth at that term, something no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but all too soon Professor McGonagall was upon him, his cheeks flushed and her gaze _venomous._

"Albus? Albus?! What do you have Mr. Potter _saying?"_

For a moment Harry thought that even Minerva was upset with his praise of the Malfoys, but it went beyond that. She was upset that Dumbledore was forcing the confession. Upset that he had been forced to describe his trauma. Upset that he was being _doubted._

Being a cat animagus probably gave his professor quite the hearing range.

Dumbledore stood up straight then and twisted around to face her just as Snape came upon Harry's back. He did nothing, but was patient, as the other professor raised a hand in his direction-

"Were you trying to… were you asking Harry if he was…" She couldn't get the words out, but she was _fierce_ in a manner Harry had never seen before.

She pulled her lips back in a sneer even Snape rose a brow at, how delightful!

"Professor Snape," She said, tone strained. She never took her eyes off Dumbledore, who stood ramrod straight and indignant, "Please take Mr. Potter to be resorted. We owe him that, at _least_."

"But Minerva," Dumbledore dared to speak, "I was just about to ask Mr. Potter if he'd like to remain in Gryffindor, as that is surely his current and no doubt true house? I don't believe that he'd really like to lose the friends he'd made there-"

Minerva cleared her throat, whatever phrase she originally meant to spat swallowed and exchanged for a calm she didn't really express with her tense body language, "It has been asked of The Board. They will not be denied in this. Trauma impacts sorting, among other things. Mr. Potter will be given the chance to see if he is a true Gryffindor."

Then, under her breath, she snarled, "as much as that pains me."

But clearly, she blamed that on the Headmaster.

She only spared Snape a look, but it was a mighty _look_ , one that made Snape gently turn Harry toward the sorting with but a nudge of his shoulder. Harry repressed a soft laugh, knowing that if he ever let loose the idea of _Snape_ looking uncomfortable and pale in the face of _his_ former Head of House and formidable transfiguration professor he'd been in a spot of trouble.

Best to pretend he didn't notice.

Best to also pretend he didn't hear his former Head of House tear into Dumbledore proper.

But he wouldn't forget it.


	4. no breaks

Slytherin was an interesting house. It was different than the beast-like wilderness, possessive and indulgent, that reigned over Gryffindor or the solitude-based and almost non-inclusive silence that no doubt consumed the bulk of Ravenclaw. He was almost certain it was different than Hufflepuff, who he'd heard to be almost pack-like in structure. Inclusive, to a fault, as they weaved their loyalty tight around one another and built they own house followed morality. Law. Structure. Togetherness.

That was admirable, actually, from a house of proclaimed misfits.

But Slytherin…

Slytherin oozed a particular culture built on sophistication and political bondage. The order of dominance was very clear, startling in the strength and determination of those who ruled their year with sly words and near unbreakable alliances. There was no contest of bravery here. No proclamation of self-proclaimed righteous or false sense of puffed up nobility. It was a calm and _almost_ studious atmosphere. It was a steady current of treasured prestige, a constant pulse like a settled heart. It was _dangerous_ in a way that reminded Harry so strongly of undercurrent thoughts and yet revealed secrets. Of mystery and battle-blessed courts of olde. Who would have guessed that the hum in the moisture-slick walls of rock that surrounded them was the constant heady rhythm of magic and silent warning? That to disobey those who thought themselves in power would be to undoubtedly fall to the bottom-rung of servitude, one that you were _bound_ to respect, one that no mere witch or wizard could rescue you from. That, unspoken, there swam a sense of ministerial bestiality that was graceful, natural, and instinctive. They were a thinking populace of, mostly, one-mind sharpness. Fiercely protective of their own beyond their den, no matter their social grace, and yet so _intense_ in their chilling passion behind closed doors as life-long friendships were created out of nothing but promises and a nose for power.

They were animals, just as much as those they said were so beyond them, just better at hiding it. Not _monsters_ , per say, but creatures of ambition that called to other creatures of the same. It was overwhelming. Inspiring…

It was _home_.

And he embraced it, drowned in the almost _sick_ sense of heavy potent magics that swept up from the perfectly laid cobblestone beneath his feet to the heady _thud, thud, thud_ of it that infused the walls. Slytherins practiced here. Expressed their prowess here. Toyed with each other in practice for greater far more important games. They flexed, metaphorically, their political ties that olde blood had granted them and they wished to expand upon. The structure was clear, the honor behind it even more so. They were quietly vicious and yet under the expected amount of control without foolish perceived notions of _evil_ to strangle them.

Perhaps, that was why he'd been approached as soon as he'd passed the threshold. Perhaps, that was why the entire collective turned to face him, suspicious and angry. He was an _invader_ , no doubt swaddled in Muggle sensibilities that would soon push ruination into their carefully maintained balance of give and take and take and take….

But he _knew_ … _knew_ by the hum of his own magic and the wild thumping of his heart-not in fear, but in an eagerness to _claim_ -that he belonged here, that he was another lord among lords waiting to bind and bound his court until all they knew was worship and his _love_.

Of which he certainly had so much to give.

So, it was with an off smile that he watched the first group approach, the first clutch of brave Slytherins in his exact year, that perhaps saw him more threat than brethren and he couldn't help but admire how quick they were to oust him-him, this child of Light. He'd forgive them that, he supposed. After all, no one treated a Slytherin unkindly unless it was another Slytherin.

They protected, they controlled, they _dominated_ their own.

They took care of each other.

And Harry had not yet earned such a right, to view such intimate workings, to see them vulnerable and _touching_ and _cuddling_ as they let themselves relax in their protective clusters on well decorated couches, before they built back up to their vicious natures to face the world outside, the world that had been taught to _hate_ them for little reason other than it was easy to hate.

He would show them though, that there was more than _hate_ within a being. That power came from mastering an entire plethora of skills and emotional range. That manipulation could be done to those you _obsessed_ over too. So then… who would he… who could he… add to his _family_?

As if unaware of the tension he provoked he slipped further into the room, watched as the group shifted their positions and came before him, their expressions carefully blank-a masterful use of the skill, he suspected, when one was about to challenge an unknown-but others were standing too, lifting up from their chairs and crafting a semi-circle of judgement. He noted, briefly, that it was a mixture of younger and older years, but what he was proud to discover was that his group of friends stood among them. Waiting. Begging to be used.

_Not yet._

"Potter," the first one said, a scrawny boy with an upturned nose and eyes that seemed somewhat dulled by a lack of impress. "I see they allowed you to come here."

The crowd murmured just a bit, stirred by an impending sense of aggression and a lack of supervision.

Since, Harry had asked Snape to leave his snakes in his _gentle_ care.

"So they have," Harry whispered, his voice pitched with curiosity, his gaze wide and imploring. "I'm happy to be here, honestly."

"Oh?" Another voice said, one that came from the crowd, only to be followed up by a snide, "we aren't happy to have you here."

A rumble started, a soft laugh, a snort, a snicker…

"That's unfortunate," Harry whispered as he used a hand to push back a strand of hair from his face in an act of morose.

They were emboldened, the group before him, the group that commanded the attention of so many others, "Yeah. Yeah, for you I suppose that is true."

One of them, one of the four that stood there, looked around in a manner that might have been inconspicuous if Harry's attention hadn't been so steady. It was clear they were looking for some symbol, some sign of an _adult_ that might interrupt their fun. His initiation, or lack thereof, as they attempted to bolster their esteem with those that watched was a very private affair.

Then, there was shifting, other figures that twisted slowly, curiously, toward his back. Those of _familiarity_ whose heavy push of magic seemed nervous, concerned. He didn't have to watch them to know that Draco and his collective were trying to get near him without appearing to bold in action. He hadn't ordered them to do such, but the initiative was nice. There was risk and he couldn't fault his tools for their want to protect him.

But, he didn't need protecting, that was not their _purpose._

The scrawny one spoke again, brave, inspired by the lack of resistance from the crowd and the interested look of those who were assumedly above them in strength and skill, "You see, Potter, I and mine don't think you belong here. Your attempt to escape your shame and your peers because you aren't very strong or brave at all has been noted, though. I guess that's a little cunning."

More laughter, a little strained as Harry tilted his head and flared his nostrils, as he felt the power in his belly whip through his limbs in reaction to a curdling _fire_. His lips parted in a soft little laugh, one of sudden interest, as the people around them swayed in the clutch of the moment, of his supposed humiliation. "Pardon me? Mister…"

"Higgs," the boy replied, "of the Higgs family. A right few generations of pure blood, you know?"

"Oh yes, of course, Lord Malfoy did allow me a rather liberal use of pureblood records. I am not unaware of your supposed generations."

That made the boy, Higgs, twitch, "Supposed? And that was _real?_ The rubbish about the Malfoy family taking you in?'

Harry didn't have to answer the question, the one spat toward him with an expected amount of disgust. Instead he rolled his shoulders in a shrug and heard a voice call from his back in suave tones and mild amusement-

"It is." Draco drawled. He had taken a chair behind him, his hands folded upon his lap, one leg crossed over the other in gentlemanly fashion, "he is the Malfoy family ward."

"Is your old man mad, Draco?" A voice called from the crowd, playful despite the malicious bite it carried.

Draco only shrugged as Zabini wandered over, looking far too smug and casual as he took a seat on the arm of the chair and swung his legs. "It isn't much my business, what my Father decides to do."

For a moment, the space was quiet, introspective. Some, those that had held their distrust, now placed that upon Malfoy, but Draco seemed rather at ease about it, perfectly at home among his house, lacking any of that manic overexcitement Harry had seen at the Manor.

He'd learned something after all.

With a soft sigh of dismissal, he lifted a hand and used it to toy with the edge of Zabini's arm sleeve in a manner so casual that Harry knew this was a normal occurrence among them, those who were touch-starved with too much responsibility and not enough affection. It wasn't an act of nerves that made Draco place his hand over Zabini's own-who, in returned, only gave off a grin of _hunger_ toward the crowd, as if he were privy to some grand secret and Harry suspected, in reality, he was-but something rather thoughtless. He didn't bother to give the situation any of the attention or seriousness that those that had approached him perhaps thought they deserved.

Higgs snarled as his companions grew stiff, "So what are you then, Malfoy? A blood traitor? Taking in just any stray? Your Father has fallen, so I suspect it's not just yer _mum_ who has been rumored to suffer from the Black madness, is it?"

_That_ got Draco's attention. That got, in fact, a great deal of attention. It got a gasp from the crowd, the stirring of Crabbe and Goyle who suddenly broke from the space to stare at Higgs with flabbergasted _offended_ expressions and balled fists. It got Nott to step up from his place-in some lone corner, once dismissing the entire ordeal as preposterous-and moving so fast to Draco's side that Harry would have thought he'd run there.

His hand was upon his shoulder, white knuckled, while Draco stared with an expression that seemed _incredibly_ chilling. It was almost enough to make Harry's heart thump with _excitement_. To see another fill with such loathing, such sudden _fury,_ was so _stunning._

But Higgs was still talking, unaware of the danger, unaware that his companions had taken a step back, "And you, Potter? You dirty half-blood? With your mudblood mother? Don't you think she'd be awfully sad that you ran in here, hoping for salvation? What, thought you could hide behind Malfoy? He's making a bloody mistake if he thinks he can protect the likes of you from us, from the _real_ Slytherins who actually care about the right _stuff._ "

No one stepped forward to interrupt. No one tried to wrestle control of Higgs, who panted and narrowed his gaze, who refused to feel embarrassed by his outburst as his lips twisted into a smile more grotesque than friendly. And indeed, it was incredibly unkind, filled with all the childish cruelty of the fanatical. It went beyond wanting to protect his house. Higgs wanted power. Prestige. Recognition, no doubt. He approached Harry to be seen, to be considered as the one who took out the filth and knocked Draco from his promised throne.

And Harry, with lips pressed thin in his own answering smile, only narrowed his gaze as that all became clear. How horrid of Higgs, to question his prestige before his house for all the _wrong_ reasons. Unforgivable, really.

"So, I will send you back out of here, back to the filth, to your little wrong-sort friends and your shame, Potter and maybe, on the way out, you could take Malfoy with you? I assume his days are up for this stunt. He should have been the first to ruin you in your sleep, when you came back sobbing because 'oh no, the _Muggles_ hit me!'"

One breath.

Then another.

And Harry laughed, some loud uproarious thing that had the people around him jerk and the crowd ripple with confused excitement. His power rose, sharp and heavy, swept from his person in a billowing wave of writhing air and vicious _heat_. The children at his back, his _brethren_ stood abruptly. The chair they had clustered around was shoved back with such feral force that one might have, truly, thought them mad or angered by Harry's expression of _joy_ , and expression that crowed past his throat swaddled in untold cruelty, in absolute _delight_ , in a chilling howl of unmatched perversity that even those at Higgs back stepped back, hurriedly, jerked as if on invisible strings, pushed as if to separate them from the one that had inspired such _sounds_.

And Higgs. Higgs was bewildered, pale faced and chest puffing, stuck between fury at being laughed at and terrified of the pressure pounding at his skull, at his body. The knocking horrid _beat_ of magic that commanded his surrender, that he bow, that he prostrate himself before the superior boy and beg and beg and-

It was only once Zabini and Malfoy had tossed the last couch, quite literally, away from Harry that they stepped up as if _controlled_. One. Unit… of power, to complete the semicircle until it was whole. His supporters at his back-Draco, barely held in place, barely calmed from his own need to _destroy_ , that Harry called so willingly within him-and those who didn't believe in his power at his front.

But he would make them believe. He'd make them believe because he _could_ , because he _wanted to_. Because he refused to be the rock, the catalyst, the _puppet_ in even Higgs bid for power.

He was there to consume and devour, no one else.

So, he quieted down and settled his laughter, allowing it to taper off into a rumble of pleasure as he _practically tasted_ the irritation at his back, the _darker_ offense that they oozed, the eagerness to perform for him, for their _Lord_ beating against his magic and sending him _soaring_.

This is what it felt like to be _needed_ , to be _wanted_.

Did Higgs feel that? Had he ever?

"Mr. Higgs, was it?" Harry purred, a curling rumble that slipped from his chest, the sound of gravel underfoot, that unbalanced those present while his _hounds_ remained coiled at his back, ready to strike. "Mister I Am Pure For Centuries Higgs, was it?"

The boy bobbed his head, his throat tight, his breath wheezing. Harry kept his focus upon him, let his magic crept along his skin, plucking and prickling, waiting to peel flesh from muscle and bone.

Higgs finally croaked out a, "yes."

Harry took a step forward and the crowd held a collective breath. Behind him he heard a sudden wild bark of laughter, courtesy of one Theodore Nott, who coughed thereafter and mumbled a soft 'sorry'. It only made Harry's lips twist upward into a saliva-slick smile, into a display of shiny perfect teeth that was rather unhinged and very little sincere.

Cruel, someone might have whispered. The smile was cruel, but Harry considered it _honest._

"Mr. Higgs, it would be foolish of me to expect you to understand the shame and _horror_ of being at the tender mercies of zealot Muggles." He shook his head, released a snort, "Do any of you understand? Have any of you ever felt weak? Powerless?"

He didn't wait for an answer, he knew what it was, and the question was rhetorical at best. His soft laughter, much more controlled than the uproarious bellowing he'd done before, was much-like an idle hiss.

Higgs twitched, wand raised, gaze somewhat wild as Harry, with tilted head, took another step forward. The storm within him shifted and curled, pushed out against his skin and sought release, but he kept it contained and carefully wound about his limbs, even as it pulsed and tingled at his fingertips.

"Without magic, without escape, it becomes an unfortunate circumstance. What would you have done, in my place, Mr. Higgs? If you had been _hit_ , disrespected by the worthless?"

He paused, silent, as Higgs swallowed again, his gulp nearly audible, "I… I would have…. A _real_ wizard would hardly tolerate-"

Harry's rude snort interrupted Higgs babbling. "Mr. Higgs, don't be so secretive with your answer. Tell me. _Show me_ , what would you have done? With no wand, with no ability?"

He opened and closed his mouth, gasping like a fish out of water, the flesh of his neck red and flushed with strain as Harry took another casual step closer.

"You don't know?" He sighed, "Do you know why we do what we do? Why wizards and witches, good _smart_ wizards and witches, don't overestimate these Muggles?"

Harry lifted a hand, causing Higgs group to jerk and Higgs himself to inhale sharply, and with a gentle murmur he wriggled a finger and began a side-ways wag, gathering magic, twisting it to his will-

The boy to the right began to _screech_ , his gaze glassy, his hands wildly patting at his body, his feet dancing erratically as spittle pooled from his mouth and the muscles on his body flexed. He jerked and bucked like a man being forcibly manipulated and Harry hummed while he did so.

There was a scream from the crowd and Higgs twisted around on the heels of his feet with a display of fright and need for self-preservation Harry was surprised he possessed. His wand moved wildly from the boy to Harry and back again-unable to decide who he should focus on-but his voice was trapped in his throat and his squeaks of surprise drowned out by the screeching that bellowed from the manipulated boy.

"Oy," Harry called, his hand still raised, his magic _singing_ , free, _free to work_ , free to move, free free free free, "they have an ability, a power in numbers, mob mentality-like pack animals, obeying hive orders."

He had no issue raising his voice above the noise, especially as the poor puppet-boy's throat twitched as he struggled to draw more breath in to make sounds.

He did, finally, manage as much, as someone in the crowd yelled to call for Snape, while others moved closer, too curious to care about the wellbeing of one of their own. It wasn't until the other boys Higgs once had at his side began to nearly _run_ to merge into the crowd that the boy Harry held completely and utterly under his control began to scream again-

" _I'm burning, I'm burning, I'MBURNINGI'MBURNING._ "

Harry nodded. Yes, he supposed he was, in fact, burning. He supposed his body felt alive in a manner it never had been before. He supposed he felt as if he were boiling, bubbly blood and magic beating wildly against the flesh-cage that held him until all he knew, all he could envision, was the wild flames of religious fanatics licking at his flesh and peeling back muscle from bone.

He garbled near the end, unable to continuously express the terror that struck him, only making those intense sounds of distress as Harry turned his gaze onto Higgs, who had fallen back and onto his arse once his poor unfortunate companion had begun to howl in his agony.

"You see, Mr. Higgs, when there are enough of them, when they discovered us so long ago, they _burned_ us. It's not to different, suffering is suffering, you see, and Muggles are _dangerous_ and deal very well in suffering. They took our wands and bound our hands and roasted us for being _different_ , for playing the _freak._ And, allow me to tell you, I was the freak to those Muggles."

He hummed for a moment, watching the 'burning' boys face as it began to turn blue, "So, you must understand that, if they were able to burn, in those old days, so many of us _true_ witches and wizards, upon our discovery, that it isn't difficult to leap to the idea that I was forced to endure some rather nasty unmentionable agonies at the hands of the ones who kept control of me. It was more than a little _hitting_. Could have been more..."

Higgs was to shaky to come to his feet. He tried, several times, but ended up flopping over onto his bum. Behind him, Draco laughed, some wild strained sound that covered his own crazed adoration of Harry and his expression of power, a power that no doubt lured such worship to the surface of all the Circle at his back.

"But, I am no longer swaddled in their control, in the pain that kept me meek and mild. I would dare say I am no longer The Boy from first year, that I am happy and pleased to be among my true house… to be with my loyal family."

The crowd shifted in manic anticipation, trapped and ensnared by the power Harry expressed, by the _accomplishments_ of his ability. With a soft huff of satisfaction, he released the burning boy, and he collapsed, all limbs and no grace, onto the cobble stone with jerky movements and a lack of consciousness.

"So, I ask again, Mr. Higgs, with his pure lineage and, no doubt, superior power and brilliant mind. Please, tell this humble half-blood, what you would have done to the Muggles, to any Muggles, who hit _you?_ "

Finally, finally, Higgs rose to his feet, though his grip was less than proper on his wand and his pallor was a nasty shade of green. "I don't know what you're playing at Potter, I don't know what sort of… of trick you did to him b-but, you don't scare me. You are _nothing_. A real wizard wouldn't have even found himself in that situation! You're just like any other filth, just another mudblood."

Harry had to admit he was impressed with Higgs conviction and stability, with his stable voice and glaring gaze.

"I see," he whispered, "then show me. Do magic, _true magic_ , before us. Show us what a wizard of pure untainted blood can accomplish."

With a few rapid pants and a sneer Higgs threw his arm forward, his loud shout of _incendio_ and clumsy wand movement doing very little to make the spell all that impactful. Harry jerked to the side, a quick and sudden movement of a much more nourished and athletic body. His snap instinct-honed through Quidditch and an enjoyable summer at the Malfoys-had been more than enough to carry him into the simplistic dodging motion meant to avoid another sloppily shot spell.

"No," Harry mumbled, his voice nearly drowned out by another screech of a spell, "that isn't enough."

Higgs, either impatient or perhaps maddened by Harry's lack of retaliation or ability to be hit, suddenly snarled out a word that was barely recognizable, before a sickeningly yellow flash of light cut through the space between them-

Only to slam harmlessly and ripple around the sudden couch that Harry had wordlessly grasped with his magic then _thrown_ toward Higgs, who, unsuccessfully, tried to dive out of its trajectory.

Hearing the sound of his body collide with the couch was satisfying. Hearing him cry out in pain and surprise even more so. The meaty _smack_ of his form slamming into the cobblestone with the couch upon him echoed in the deathly silent space, but nobody moved to help the boy even as he writhed and cursed and demanded for assistance-claiming that his family held so much more power than anyone could imagine and that they best help him teach this _mudblood_ a lesson.

So, it was no surprise when Draco and Zabini stepped around him, eager to drag the boy from beneath the couch-

"Come to your senses? To fuckin' late-"

And threw him on the ground right in front of Harry.

They stared at him, waiting, Draco's foot upon his skull, Zabini's foot cruelly pressing down at the small of his back, while he writhed like a worm. And while Harry kept his gaze upon the boy, the crowd was a buzzing wave of exhilaration, talking about the use of his _wandless_ magic, about the prestige of his bloodline and wondering how? How could someone born to a mudblood be so _powerful_ -

"Mr. Higgs-"

Draco spit, rather unrefined, upon the boy in question, a rolling cloud of hatred and pent up aggression.

Harry continued, "-blood doesn't appear to be much of a defining factor in our ability. You are on the ground, kissing the filth and swaddled in spit, and I, the Heir Apparent of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, am standing before you."

He tittered a bit, let that sink in, let the boy grow flushed in his humiliation as the Slytherins began to close the circle, drawing closer, wanting more, whispering-

"I knew that kid was an idiot."

"What was he expecting, exactly, from this?"

"You sure Potter's a half-blood? I've never felt this sort of _pressure_ before."

"You're focused on that? He threw a bloody couch at him without uttering a word!"

-and Harry inhaled deeply, hands upon his hips, gaze thoughtful…

As Theodore approached and deeply bowed behind him, rolling out a- "My Lord, my prince, may I approach?" That had the entire crowd snap their flapping jaws shut.

Now the crowd grew worried, infused with a nervous thoughtful sort of curiosity. Harry only gave a nod, neither denying nor confirming the title.

"Mr. Higgs and some of those around us, do not understand the importance of your coming. Your very presence is a gift to us. To have such an heir of such noble birth _returned to us_ , no matter his Father or lovely Mother, is something to be treasured. We, Slytherin, are just protective of our own and our ways and-"

"Heir Nott," Harry drawled, "I am not here to disturb the way of Slytherin. I am here to _enhance_ upon it. To fill our coffers with more gold and our courts with more vassals, the _right_ sort, stolen from the wrong."

Higgs opened his mouth to speak but a cruel and sudden stomp to the back of his head from Draco put a stop to that. Instead, the boy screeched as he bit his tongue and blood bubbled up and out a corner of his lips.

Good.

A voice from the crowd, "The wrong sort? What are you playing at Potter?"

Harry tilted his head, hands linked before his body, his trademark stance of innocence, "Why, aren't you lot tired of being seen for less than what we are? Aren't you tired of the besmirching of our traditions-"

"The Light and the mudbloods cause-"

"No," Harry said playfully, and yet that one word was enough to make the voice stop talking abruptly, that and the slight flex of his true being slithering across the walls, forcing the space to groan and the massive window that gave sight beyond their space to darken, gurgle with the shifting body of the creature beyond it, called by Harry's lure.

"No," he said again, "no, I don't think that's it. Not exactly. They are brainwashed, those others, and we've allowed them to be. They were stolen from us-"

"But they're worthless, no sort of magical ability-"

"Shut _up_ , Rosier. Didn't you just _see_ what he did?"

Harry waited for the crowd to settle before he continued, "They were stolen from us, slandered to us, and we believed they were worthless, different. Yet, let it be known that they are alone and _willing_ , but taken by the _wrong sort_ to fatten their numbers and destroy our own and that is what makes them _worthless_ and us weak."

Then, Harry lowered his gaze to Higgs and with a gentle sound he said, "You make us weak, Mr. Higgs. You and your closed-thought. You have no admiration to rule, to conquer, to consume. To control every aspect of magical blood, even the blood we've mistakenly forsaken, when we should have been _stealing_ it, retaining it..."

Slowly a smile broke across Harry's face, some perverse manifestation of gentility and mischievousness, "I do."

Harry lowered into a crouch, bobbing on the tiptoes of his feet, keeping his bum properly off the ground and his robe over one arm as the snake about his neck revealed itself and slithered down and around until it was _very_ visible and hissing angrily.

That drew another surprised inhale from the crowd as Harry cooed and stroked the head of the snake with one hand while Higgs shook and trembled, defenseless, pinned…

"That fear you are feeling? That's what I felt. That helplessness… the very notion that there was nothing I could do. That I was _nothing_ before something greater…"

Harry paused for a moment, to watch the blood trickle down the side of Higgs face, before he spoke again-"Mr. Higgs, I will help Slytherin by any means necessary. I will take back our power, our respect, our right to be _wizards,_ real wizards, Mr. Higgs, as that is important to you. I will enhance our traditions, I will thicken our blood with the very beings the Light stole from us. I will correct our misconceptions and build _new houses of power_ , that spew of our greatness and worship our olde Lords."

Now the crowd mumbled, now they buzzed with growing fever. Magic brushed against his own, subdued and subservient and he smiled, like a prince before a wayward peon, as Higgs began to wheeze beneath the pressure of his captors.

"But first, I must show you what a lord, a _true Lord_ , of the _right_ sort of thought can do. The power of a Lord who is not afraid of filth, not afraid to command it, to control it, to twist it, to make it powerful and screaming his praises to the heavens."

The power of _his_ Lord, the Lord they would all worship, soon enough.

"Back. Count. Forty seconds." Harry whispered, as Draco and Zabini quickly shuffled backwards just when Harry drew fingertips through Higgs hair, ignoring the spittle and sweat and whispered-

_Crucio_.

He'd never seen a body bend the way Higgs did. Never saw someone flop and slam their flesh over and over without care or consequence into dust and blood. His howl was all-consuming, so much louder than burning boy's had been, so much more gratifying and _pure_ and _beautiful_ in a way Harry would never fully fathom. Yet, despite the pain, despite the curse he inflicted upon the boy, he could feel his very _soul_ cry out from the successful casting. He could feel his magic, hot and singing, bring him a satisfaction he couldn't really describe. He ripped off the shackles of his naivety then, tore off the mantles that had bound him to paltry tricks and ideals he couldn't possibly believe in. He shed his skin in that moment, tore off his will to bind it to one _purpose_ , one idea of unification in the most perverse sense. He'd carve pain in this world, into more than just Mr. Higgs, and draw obedience out of the masses while transforming those around him into so much more than political toys and pretty babbles.

He would cast the weak at the feet of the strong, pureblood or otherwise.

He would eradicate lines of _wrong_ sorts and elevate the right sorts.

He would become the would-be, while not-being what he'd once been enslaved to.

All he needed was _more_ of this, more magic, more potential, more intellect, more family, more more more more-

Until he had all their precious _love_.

"Time." Zabini's shaky voice came to him and abruptly Harry stopped, sighing with longing as he missed the addictive feel of power and control humming in his veins.

Then, slowly, he rose up while Higgs gasped and dry heaved and _sobbed_.

"That's what it felt like, Mr. Higgs, to be beaten by those Muggles. That's what it felt like to almost die. To be _hit_ and _hit_ and _hit_ while begging to be saved…"

There was a whimper from the crowd, soft whispers, the addictive _curl_ of terrified magic and the sickening pulse of his own might infecting the walls, crawling across the ceiling, consuming, oppressing…

"But I am merciful and pain will cleanse the sins of those who have the wrong sort of thought. Do you, Mr. Higgs, still have the wrong sort of thought?"

The boy in question whimpered and tried to curl up, but couldn't. Suddenly, Theo was at his side, digging hands in his hair and painfully wrenching his head back so that he stared, quite uncomfortably, up at Harry.

"Answer our Lord, boy." Theo hissed, his gaze glassy, coated with fervent worship.

Harry allowed his magic to wrap possessively about the Nott heir and noted, with pleasure, that when he shivered it was with longing and not from terror.

"I… I…"

Harry ignored his croak and pressed, patient, "Do you?"

"No," he wheezed.

"Then, perhaps, I will not hear the word mudblood from your mouth again, will I? As we continue to bring Slytherin into a near era of wealth and prosperity. The Silver Era of our absolute control. _Argentum Imperium_."

The crowd repeated his phrase, rolled the ancient words across their tongues, whispered them gently at first, then more passionately.

They liked it.

They coveted that.

_Argentum Imperium._

"I... I obey," Higgs sobbed.

Draco scowled, disgusted, "He disrespected the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, your house of protection, my Lord."

Harry nodded, before he motioned for Draco to stick out his foot while he did the same.

"Then, Mr. Higgs, please correct your mistake."

Theo pushed his head down, pressed his nose and bloody jaw against Draco's foot first, as Higgs noisily slurped his lips and tongue across the polished leather.

Then he did the same for Harry.

"Wonderful!" Harry crowed, and suddenly the crowd broke out into laughter, sealed Higgs humiliation, his fate, his fall to the bottom, while he became closer to the top, "Then, all is forgiven!"

Theo released the boy, let him lay in his snot and tears as he moved to create a protective semi-circle with his other boys-Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco-and they moved as one unit to a spot at the center of the room, a spot they had earned, claimed a smiling seventh year, with the glossy gaze of awe in his eyes.

A spot they would keep.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

For weeks thereafter, they whispered of his power, wondered at the spells he'd used-sans the crucio, which everyone had heard. He had thought, for a bit afterwards, that some of those who had seen his work might have told some other authority but there had been no visit from the Headmaster and only a sigh of exasperation from Snape. He was safe, even from the cowering Mr. Higgs, who flinched and whimpered whenever he walked by.

Which, was all well and good, except...

"They are following you again, up to something, no doubt."

Harry gave his current company, Pansy Parkinson, a wistful look. "I believe they might miss me, is all."

Pansy gave a slight shrug, her arms free-courtesy of Harry carrying her bags with his own for her, "I'm not so certain."

She, among several other Slytherin women, had come to him after a brief introduction by Draco over the summer. She was, as far as he could tell, Draco's future intended and despite their initial start last year she seemed rather respectful-if a bit pessimistic-to him now. Or, maybe, that had been due to the performance he'd done upon his entrance to Slytherin proper.

"I don't like it, is all," she grumbled, before she sneered at a shifting shadow.

"Oh?" Harry said, his attention upon the nervous irritated thump of magic at his back, the two rapidly shifting dots that followed them.

He had far more time to wander with Pansy in the halls than Draco did, having become the new Seeker and all for the Slytherin team, a fact Ron had been sure to bemoan that particular day on the pitch that Draco had called Hermione a dreadful word. And, while Draco had expected reprimanding Harry had only shrugged toward his admission with a sigh and a mysteriously spoken-

"We'll see."

But now, now he was being stalked. That was his own fault, he supposed, since he barely paid the pair of them much attention as he crafted new relationships and strengthened the alliance of his Circle.

"It's just, what do they _want_ with you, erm… my Lord. Since, you've made it pretty clear-"

"It's fine," Harry interrupted, brow raised, "it matters very little. I just want to return to the common room and begin our Samhain. I'd really like to start the rituals before-"

_Hunger… need… rend… flesh_

That slithered into his ears.

How odd.

His abrupt and sudden stop was, perhaps, extremely jarring by the rapid tightening of his snake about his neck.

It was also jarring for Pansy, who had walked a few paces ahead. And it was certainly jarring for the spies who rounded the corner so quickly and so clumsily they collided right with Harry's back. But it must have been _surprising_ for the rapidly moving figure of Ginny Weasley as she slipped, from the shadows, with pale face and rapid breath.

They made for a… silly collection of limbs, and Pansy yelled at the indignation of seeing her Lord under a pile of Gryffindors while Harry, a bit taken aback, flailed like a fish.

Well! How dare they!

Untangling himself from the ball of gold and red and helped up by an almost manic furious Pansy he turned a chilling gaze to the tangle, only to see Ron get free first and leap to his feet with a-

"H-harry!"

Pansy opened her mouth to say something, something unkind no doubt, but Harry's grip upon her shoulder was enough to make her snap her mouth shut and press her lips thin in outrage. Goodness, it would take a bit to train this one.

"Weasley. Granger," Harry spoke cordially while he smoothed out his robes and adjusted his tie right before he turned a quirk brow toward the other girl Hermione was helping to her feet, "and…?"

Ron flinched at the cold voice and the address by his last name but quickly steadied himself and motioned toward the frazzled out of sorts girl. "This is my sister, um… Ginevra."

Harry tilted his head and wondered at the slight tremble in Ron's body. At the way he seemed to be swallowing harshly with flared nostrils. "Is something wrong?"

Ron cast a quick gaze to Pansy before shifting it back to him, "I… n-no, Harry."

"Harry? It's Mr. Potter, or better yet, Heir Potter, to someone like you."

Harry released a half-chuckle and shook his head at Pansy, "No. No. It's fine. We were friends after all-"

"Were?" Hermione whispered, her gaze upon Ginny, who seemed shell-shocked to be standing in front of him and had her eyes everywhere else but his own.

Harry was quiet then, watching them both, watching the way Ron slouched and Hermione grew tense, shielding herself, drawing inward. Perhaps she, more than the red haired boy, was used to…

"Well, it is true isn't it? Don't you and yours hate Slytherins, Ronald? I figured-"

"NO!" Ron screamed, and Hermione flinched while Ginny dropped the bag in her arms, startled, and scowled at the spilled contents.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, "I.. I could never hate you Harry. Mate. We're… we've…"

He couldn't find the words, obviously, but maybe he felt odd expressing them before Pansy too, who looked entirely unimpressed with the display.

"Your house is irrelevant to us," Hermione mumbled, hunched over and helping Ginny shove items back into her bag, "Houses have never mattered much to me."

But she was subdued, no doubt still focused on Draco's harsh slur from the other day.

"They are all the same, for the most part," she mumbled under her breath, perhaps thinking no one could hear the… _raw_ bitterness in her tone. "Everywhere. Everywhere is the same."

"Listen, Harry, could we just get some time-"

A scream.

Silence.

Ron blinked.

Then another scream as Harry, with slight frown, turned from them to face the direction, only to hear Hermione yell-"Ginevra?!"-as the girl suddenly sprinted off.

"Ron!" Hermione said, as she moved to follow the girl, a couple of Ginny's things still in her arms, "I'll… just…"

She shook her head and then ran off in the direction of his sister, while Ron looked helplessly after her. Harry, with a glance over his shoulder and a quirked brow said-

"Good day to you, Mr. Weasley."

And left him there.

Alone.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Enemies of the heir, beware!" Blaise said, stretching out before he collapsed on the couch, practically on top of Harry and his books.

With a grunt and a bit of squirming Harry managed to position himself so that Blaise was now flopped over his lap in a manner more befitting a dramatic actor than the boy-vassal he was supposed to be. "I'm scared, my Lord. I'm scared."

He semi-curled into him, arms wrapped around his waist and Harry sighed deeply, knowing now that he wouldn't be able to dig further into the concept of magic potential, birth, and power-base statistics.

"Zabini," Harry grumbled, only to tug briefly at the back of his robes, "I was busy."

"My Lord, I cannot bare to be away from you for long." Blaise practically _pouted_ , before his gaze shimmered in a manner more mischievous than serious, an expression he'd seen Parkinson wear once right before she'd purposely spilled all of Draco's ink on his fresh slacks.

"I'm sure," Harry drawled, saved from further dramatics as Draco and Theo slipped into the space, Draco buzzing with excitement and Theo with his usual delight masked under practiced control.

"Was it you, Harry? Are you the heir? Did you-"

Harry tilted his head and gently laughed, "I'd like to say it was, but… well."

On some level he knew that they knew he'd had little to do with… whatever had happened to that pathetic excuse for a cat. But they had hoped it was him, no doubt ready to cleanse the school of undesirables. He had only heard of the confused gathering of students around the stiff cat after he had returned to the dorms with Pansy, having to convince her that it was in their best interest to move away from the screaming, after all. Draco's claim of mudbloods being next aside, he was curious as to why and how such an act had been accomplished, especially since poor Filch had been unable to point any fingers, even in his raving lunacy.

History class, as droll as it was, had been no better, with Hermione waving her arm about and asking Binns about the subject of secrets and chambers.

"My Lord," Theo whispered, gaze open, though he seemed hesitant.

"Speak."

"About the chamber… No, about Salazar, ah… Lord Slytherin. Do you feel as if he… do we dishonor his legacy by…"

Draco toyed idly with some lint on his slacks, but it was clear he'd thought about this question too, or maybe, had convinced the boy-precious small Theo-to ask considering how enjoyable Harry's intellectual conversations were with him. How sneaky.

"Well, Theo. I think I know what you are trying to ask me."

"It is not that I do not believe in our current direction. I think that there are… benefits to the control and assimilation but-"

"Security, large security risk, they-" Zabini suddenly blubbered and Harry gave a snort before putting his hand down over Zabini's eyes.

"Hush."

The collective about him swallowed slightly, sans Zabini, who grumbled with displeasure across his lap.

"My friends, let it be known that our Lord Slytherin came from a time where Muggles held power and plenty of fire. When the secret of their existence came to light the filth abhorred us, envied us our superiority and our might. We had been nobles, controlling the land, rich with culture and privileged with higher education and for that they were displeased and eager to condemn our otherness. "

He gave a soft sound, a curious hum from the back of his throat, "So, it is no wonder that Lord Slytherin felt the way he did. I surmise that his original need to keep the Muggleborns out wasn't because they were beneath us in magic and potential, not entirely, but because they were… uneducated peasants. They had been conditioned to certain Muggle sensibilities and it would have been difficult to change their mentality. Admission into the school would have slowed the efficiency of pureblood education because, well, a pureblood would assumedly know magic all their life.

Furthermore, and most unfortunately, in those times of olde a peasant child would be needed to work long summer hours on crops for the lord that owned them. Do you understand? Admission of Muggleborns came at great a cost to ourselves."

"More reason to hate them, then." Draco mumbled, something venomous and vicious.

"Not entirely," Harry corrected, amused, "Our primary education, not the magical one, is relatively the same in terms of Muggleborn versus the average wizard or witch. Though our cognitive abilities are far greater they can count, they can read, and they can write. Which is more than most could do in the olde times."

Harry tapped his chin and nodded to himself, more than ready to share his thoughts. "Originally, I thought the Muggleborns just as great a risk as Slytherin did. Discovery of our people could lead to an old fashion slaughter. It's very possible."

Such words made Zabini shiver and he sucked in a rapid breath, "My Lord…"

But Harry lifted the hand that covered his eyes and instead gave his arm a squeeze, "Don't fret, Blaise. I would never allow you to burn."

But the boy remained somewhat forlorn with face tense and drawn.

"So, to protect our secrets, it was once thought that Muggleborn eradication was best."

Theo and Draco nodded.

"It isn't, though."

Theo swallowed, "What is then? How do we protect ourselves…?"

"Good question. Some of the greatest minds have yet to discover a way, more than willing to kill and slaughter blood we could conquer and control." He playfully tickled Zabini's ribs, causing the boy to snort and guffaw to his embarrassment. "The only fear we have from them is the fear of them changing our culture, destroying us, stealing our magic and exposing our world. Only two of those are really in danger, mostly pushed by the Light. Our cultural destruction and our exposure through constant Muggle interaction, unneeded, and unwanted if I might be honest."

Harry risked a glance to Draco, "Your father is on The Board, correct?"

Draco tilted his head, "Yes."

"Here's the thing. I have only a surface understanding of how much power that grants him versus our Headmaster. Let me be clear, upon arrival to this world I knew _nothing_ and that made me incredibly vulnerable. If I'd known _something_ , I could have started on this path to greatness much sooner. That bothers me, that I was left ignorant. That, many of us are ignorant. So, I ask, why don't we have a wizarding culture class? Why must everything be learned at the last minute?"

Here Harry smiled, a bit cruelly, "I'm surprised the bulk of us, those raised by Muggles, aren't bound in vassalage contracts already. It leaves us, all of us-yes, even you, Draco-weaker as a unit. We look foolish, catering to a Muggle lifestyle, when no wizard will need to be 'Muggle'. What we need, what we don't have, is a wizarding class, to teach those who come to adapt, to assimilate, to _obey._ "

He chuckled a bit, allowed his chest to rumble with his _desire_ for authority while his magic possessively washed over his court, earning a tremble as they shifted to be closer and Zabini mumbled something under his breath.

"Young fresh eager minds, loving magic, enjoying magic… they don't understand the _gift_ they've been given. This chance at new life, at rebirth, to be more than garbage. They take it for granted, you know? Because we don't explain that they shouldn't. As do purebloods, with their haughty airs and lack of trying. I want effort, I love effort, and earning praise is far better than being given it, I'd say."

He was more than willing to earn their terror and feast on their obedience with all the satisfaction of a hard-worker.

"So, if they knew, if they learned, if they understood and respected and _kneeled_ they could… would be accepted. Furthermore, in terms of security, why would… they go back if they had what they really needed here? If they were understood as beyond the filthy Muggles that tried to hoard them, to keep them from their _trueness_? To break the chains that bound them with misleading information and send them into _ruin_ without so much as a warning? It's not difficult to retain the masses when their gospel is here, their _purpose_ is here. When they could be so much more under the banner of our most gracious nobility once more."

Theo smiled, something interested, something curious, and Harry looked to him.

"Heir Nott, there is something I've always wondered, something I think would be possible to prove, if you are willing to… help."

Theo nodded, "Whatever you wish, my Lord."

"Then, here is what I'd like for you to do-"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Ron swallowed harshly, uncomfortable, angry, confused, bewildered.

Harry only gave him a smile, devoid of warm, of comfort, while Hermione nearby watched them with an odd expression. Was it pensive? Fearful? Brooding? It was… intense, some shuttered off thing that made her pupils seem wider and her face so carefully blank.

Interesting.

Justin, on the other hand. Goodness, poor Justin, only sputtered and backed up and croaked before he _fled_ , a coward in the face of Harry's ability. An ability that made every Slytherin in the room direct adoration toward him, which made his magic flush his skin and _sing_ in his veins. Let them know, let them see, let them discover his rare ability-claimed as _dark_ when it was nothing short of miraculous.

The snake that Ron had summoned-and boy did he look a bit green and regretful-had been blown back and away by one foolish Professor Lockhart. That snake had then decided that the best thing to do was attack the nearest target, Justin. Harry, with a snort, had told the snake to stop and Snape, with a groan and a bit of a tremble, had banished it.

"He should be grateful," Harry said, even as a few Gryffindors began to edge toward the door, scowling darkly, "I told the snake to stop. It didn't want to, you know."

If they heard him or cared, he didn't know.

"Y-y-you're… you're the heir? You have… that sort of magic…" Ron sputtered, but his voice was weak, his gaze disbelieving and his appearance now so pale that the red on his body stood out abruptly.

"Sign of a dark wizard," Hermione said, but it was stated so casually that Harry might have thought her uncaring or… _bored_.

Harry narrowed his gaze and Ron swallowed and nodded.

"It is but... " he shook his head, dislodged a thought, "barely matters, he's still the same, Hermione."

She only sniffed slightly, her lids lowered. "Right. Yes."

"Harry I'm so-" But Ron didn't get to finish, the class was emptying and the Slytherins were babbling excitedly and-

"Heir Potter." Neville interrupted, his expression calm, his gaze unwavering and clear and his conviction as strong as the healthy pulse of his magic, "May I speak with you?"

Harry smiled _brilliantly_ , "Yes, Heir Longbottom. Lets."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Dumbledore called him to the office, a waste of his time to be clear but Harry was a polite boy, a _good_ boy, and he would not disrespect Snape by ignoring the summons.

After he'd left Neville, a new Neville, a lion of unwavering strength and a peculiar but welcomed _dark eagerness_ , with the Circle he'd taken to the halls and the winding pathways that would lead him toward a familiar place. He knew that Draco would attend to Neville, help with his magic, dark or otherwise and that Theo and Blaise would be sure to catch him up on more academic and political matters, mostly Harry's own need and desire to change the future. He knew, as he'd left them, that the boy wouldn't run.

That he _couldn't_ run.

He had been captured. Conquered… and he'd embraced all that that meant. He'd only nodded to Harry when he'd been about to leave, wordlessly mouthing a soft 'thank you, my lord' before they had broken contact.

To which Harry had replied, 'of course, my brother'.

Now though, now he would be forced to endure a meeting with the Headmaster.

Wonderful.

"Harry, my boy, please have a seat." Dumbledore motioned to the chair on the other side of the office and Harry tossed a glance in the general direction of the elaborate fixtures, hanging portraits, and the-

His brows climbed so high they might have disappeared into his hair.

"Oh. Hah. This is Fawkes," Dumbledore said, looking playful and smug all at once.

Harry took care to school his disbelief and interest, "I see. A phoenix then? Rare."

"Very." Dumbledore replied, almost disappointed that he would not be able to wrap him up in curiosity, no doubt.

Harry sat, "What can I do for you today, Headmaster?"

"I wanted to let you know that some of the student body has-"

"Claimed I am the heir due to my ability, which is unfortunate and unnecessary."

Dumbledore blinked once, then again, "Yes. I wanted to let you know that I don't believe you are the heir as well."

"Ah, a relief," Harry bounced, toying slightly with the failing cushion in the straight-back chair he sat, "Slytherin doesn't think so either, which is nice. My house supports me. I am afraid I wouldn't have had that support in Gryffindor."

It was only Neville, with his strict and unwavering belief that he could do far _worse_ than string up a cat that had made kept most of the lions out of his way.

"I am almost certain that Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger would have supported you, Harry. I talked to them-"

"Recently?" Harry asked, curious, holding back to rolling sensation of irritation that grew in his belly. Wondering, needing to know, if they were _spies_ set upon him. If they had ever _cared_ about him. If Ron's fear and disgust at his own loss of temper and his snake spell had been genuine or carefully crafted.

"Mr. Weasley, recently. Ms. Granger has been avoidant. I think she's a bit…"

"And what did Mr. Weasley say?" Uncaring.

"He felt bad for you, mostly. Wondered if you were doing well. If I had spoken to you."

He was leaving something out. Something important.

Harry exhaled.

"You seem to be avoiding them. Do you no longer wish to be friends?"

"It is just somewhat difficult, Headmaster. What with the rivalries and such."

"Ah yes…" Dumbledore leaned back, rubbing his chin, "but I would hope such things would remain strong despite the differences in your house. Young Heir Malfoy can be… intense I suspect. Wouldn't you like other friends?"

Friends that were blind. Friends that were eager to serve?

"Yes, I suppose I could try talking to them again. It was just… I was worried, sir."

"Worried? About what?"

"Well, sir. Even Hagrid said that Slytherins were vile. All of them evil and I've just been so… afraid. Afraid that I'd hurt them, that they'd hate me, that I'm _evil._ "

Dumbledore looked off to the side for a moment, a crease in his brow, a bit of annoyance in the twitch of his cheek, "Nonsense. They think nothing of the sort. I think nothing of the sort. Being a Slytherin does not make you… evil. It's just that… some Slytherins can be wrapped in their ways and those ways can be damaging."

He tapped a fingertip across his desk while Harry stared at it, imagined it curling, flexing, reactive in agony

"You see, Harry. I've noticed you… visiting rather often with some of your yearmates."

"Yes, sir."

"And I hope that they haven't influenced you to bad-thought."

Oh no. Certainly not that.

"I am not certain how they feel about the way our world currently is and their parents might have strong opinions. Have they tried speaking to you about any of that?"

Harry lowered his gaze, suddenly and painfully aware that Dumbledore was trying to catch his own.

He was not an idiot. He was not a ragdoll, a puppet. He would not be manipulated.

"We talk mostly of Quidditch sir, and familiars and classwork, that sort. I talk to them about what it was like, with the Muggles-"

"-I see," Dumbledore was quick to interrupt before he sighed and nodded. "I do hope you'll realize then, who your real friends are and what loyalty to them means, in the future."

Harry smiled, something far too excited, far too passionate. "Oh, of course sir! I will."

_I will and I do._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He cornered Neville, pressed him against the wall of the alcove and hid them from sight. His belly burned with rage, with the need to _punish_ , to show Neville his place and make him aware that he belonged to _him_. That every scheme, every thought, every ideal, was permitted because Harry permitted it and he didn't bother to hide his snarl as he allowed his magic to lick across his flesh, to burden him-

Though there was little space Neville fell to the ground, hard upon his knees and pitched forward, mumbled against the robes he wore, swallowed harshly and trembled but his gaze was not filled with the terror of the treasonous. No, when he opened glassy eyes there was nothing but worship there, nothing but disappointment in himself and the game he'd played.

"Speak," Harry croaked, containing himself, drawing back his ire and smoothing his expression into one of mild disinterest. How unbecoming of a gentlemen and a Slytherin to lose himself like that.

"My Lord, forgiveness, my Lord." Neville mumbled, leaning over to kiss the hem of his robes, an Olde Way mannerism which Harry accepted and allowed to settle him, to push back the billowing emotion, the need to be so authoritative. It soothed something in him, something olde and instinctive, and the pressure in his chest lessened. This was his servant, his vassal, his brother.

"Speak."

"I went along with it to keep an eye on them, they are manic lately, suspicious. I needed to know what they were doing." Neville hissed, venomously, "I wanted to tell you. Tried to, but-"

"Which."

"I was Crabbe, Weasley was Goyle."

"Granger?"

Here Neville snorted, something slightly crossed between kind and concerned, "She uh… she turned herself into a bit of a cat. Meant to get a Bulstrode hair, didn't. But, my Lord, she did manage to brew the three potions without… with barely any effort I…"

"You wonder how."

"I do."

"I'm working on that."

Neville nodded, "They are nosy, trying to solve the mystery of the heir. I probed… said maybe it was you. Ron's defense of you was so explosive I… and the way Granger stared at me…"

Neville rubbed his throat and sat up as Harry took a step back to give him space, "I thought she was going to hex my balls off."

The sudden laugh that burst from Harry's mouth caught him off guard and Neville gave him a sly look before swallowing the expression.

"My Lord, I didn't know we'd even get that far, into your den and… I didn't know Malfoy would say those things and… the dark artifacts."

Harry sighed, "He has a hard time being secretive. He enjoys boasting. He thinks it'll gain more favor for me. I had a… _talk_ with him."

Neville shuddered, then continued, "They suspected it was Draco, actually. Thought that, maybe he was using you as a shield and forcing you not to change up the rumors. They said they'd do it for you…"

"I see," Harry bid Neville to stand and for a time they merely stared at each other, before Harry whispered, "I enjoy initiative, but don't do that again, don't risk yourself for those beyond the Circle."

Neville nodded, revealed and yet solemn, "Harry, I think… I think they… miss you?"

"I can certainly tell. They stopped stalking me, at least."

"Yes, they have."

For a moment Harry contemplated on his meeting with Dumbledore. On the idea of spies and happenstance. "I think they were set up to be with me, first year. I think that they might be… under Dumbledore's sway."

Neville sneered then, "I'd… if they so much as attempt to betray you to him-"

"Watch them for me, Neville. Be my eyes." Harry said, curious… "I don't need anyone to know about Draco's… artifact problem."

"As you wish it, my Lord."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Four months. Four months of tense silence. Of Slytherins walking in protective groups. Of Gryffindors scowling. Of Hufflepuffs looking scared and Ravenclaws appearing, somewhat, bored by the entire ordeal. Four months of fear beyond their wall, four months since poor poor Justin and some ghost had been attacked and shuffled up to the infirmary. That was four months for Harry to attend to his plans.

"Are you sure you don't want to be on the team?" Flint grumbled, "You're a bloody prodigy is all and I don't want to lose that."

Harry chuckled, watching the way Flint wrinkled his brow and scrunched up his nose, "I couldn't take Malfoy's spot. He loves Quidditch."

"He is a good Seeker…" Flint rubbed the back of his neck, "But, I think you might be a little… better."

Harry smiled, something cold but amused, "I'm going to help him over the summer. He'll be more than good when I'm finished."

But Flint wasn't at all satisfied.

"Next year, come to me again. I might have… an interest. I might be able to play another position. But I will not take his spot."

Flint sighed, but it was with relief. "Yes. Good! I'll keep you to that, Potter. You're a great duelist, but an even better Quidditch player. If we want to win, I need you _somewhere_ on this team!"

They shook on it, Flint a little more powerfully than needed, before the older boy was moving on and away from the fields, leaving Harry to his thoughts… and the sound of a few voices.

"I don't get it, I just don't get it! It's not Malfoy? It has to be."

Weasley.

Harry moved quickly, turning to slip among the shadows of a nearby Quidditch bench, and with but a whisper and flick of his revealed wand he was camouflaged and irrelevant.

"Mmm," the second voice, a distracted Granger-

"Hermione, please! Will you listen to me for one moment? Or are you so lost in your bloody book you can't even-"

There was an odd sound, like someone swallowing too much air, before Hermione's soft almost dreamy tone said-

"I'm listening. Go ahead, Ronald."

There was a grumble and a huff before he spoke again, "Malfoy."

"Yes. You still think he's the heir? It's a bit difficult to believe. He likes a good brag."

"You can't possibly think it's Harry though, could you?"

There was silence, and in that brief moment from the next-

"It could be… it… could be but-"

"How could you even think-"

"-he's changed, hasn't he?"

Harry had to admit he was impressed by Hermione's ability to keep a calm and even tone, even while Ron raged around her.

"He hasn't its... The snakes, they got him all… I _know_ he liked us, last year he really truly liked us-"

"-not me."

Harry took a sharp breath, startled by Hermione's dismissal of his friendship.

Apparently, so was Ron, "How could you say something like that? How could you-"

"-do you even like me, Ronald?"

Silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and heavy.

"I… don't be daft, Hermione. Sure, we don't' really get along that well and-"

"-Harry was a good buffer. He kept us together. He was our center. Our point. And I was, I have been… I'm very abrasive, I think. And, well, even you have called me, um, insufferable. He smoothed that out. Hid all my… hid all _our_ edges."

Heavy breathing then, more silence, only to be broken again by Hermione.

"He… found better-"

"-Oh don't start this. Don't _you_ start this-"

"-Think about it! Think about it, Ronald!" Hermione pleaded, her voice now practically echoing across the empty pitch, "The circumstances that brought us together. The insane amount of adventure, the danger, none of it remotely makes sense and now that he has others, now that he has _betters_ , he's forgotten us-"

"-They aren't better than us. They aren't better than _me_!"

Hermione continued, despite Ron's yelling, "And when he needed us, they were there. They saved him. They _cared_ enough to do more than send owls and worry. They-"

"-I tried, I-"

"-you were in Egypt! You weren't there-"

"-and you were!?"

There's a sound of something being thrown, the heavy _thunk_ of a rock against wood loud in the strained silence that blanketed them.

"No. No I wasn't. I failed."

Ron wheezed, "Headmaster wants us to keep trying. Says Harry needs us-"

"-he doesn't need us."

" _BUT I NEED HIM!_ "

Birds screeched, rocketed away and flew off, wings flapping and feathers sprinkling down around them.

Ron panted, his heavy breathing saying more than anything else that his desperation came from somewhere within, somewhere sincere and _hurting_.

"I need him. I miss him. He's my mate. My best friend. He's yours too, and you… you aren't even trying!"

"I made you the bloody potion, didn't I?" Hermione hissed, though her tone was strained now, trapped and thick with indescribable emotion, "You think I'm just happy he's gone? You think that this doesn't impact me-"

"-you're always in your bloody books, so it's difficult to even _assume_ that Ms. Granger the swot, has any other cares other than her precious knowledge and classes."

Maybe Ron expected Hermione to bite back, to continue the remarks, but everything was quiet… so so quiet.

"I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I didn't. Hermione-"

"-It's fine." But it wasn't, Harry could tell by the warble in her tone, "It's fine. It's fine."

But she was having a hard time convincing herself of that and Ron, to awkward and guilty, only grumbled under his breath, "I'm just sayin' that, I want him back…. Not because the Headmaster says we should keep watchin' 'em. I'm tired of watching my best mate, I'm tired of seeing him smile and laugh with them. I'm bloody jealous, and it hurts, and-"

Hermione took an unsteady breath, a sharp inhale that she released slowly, "I know. I do understand these things, you know. I'm not completely lacking in self-awareness."

"I don't know if you feel the same way I do."

"I… do, it's just. I'm not… sure if… maybe it's… easier for you. Maybe he… my blood status, you see."

"That's all rubbish, don't let them-"

"-it's not that easy. I have to… do something. Something other than this." She whispered, her words almost swallowed by Ronald's snort of irritation.

"I'm going to keep looking for Harry, for some of his time. I don't care what the Headmaster says. Harry knows what he's doing, he's gotta. I won't leave him again, I won't sit by and do nothing, even if I have to be friends with Slytherins, with Malfoy, with anyone!"

He was breathing harder, Harry could tell by the sound of puffing air, "Whatever you said… whatever we both said on the train, I don't know what it is, and he won't let me apologize for it but I'm going to try and I'm going to keep trying, again and again. No _Muggles_ are going to touch him ever again, _spelled_ like Dumbledore said or not."

Hermione gasped softly, maybe startled by Ron's conviction, his lack of respect to the Headmaster, or the venomous loathing he spat out the word Muggles with.

He cleared his throat, before he whispered, voice so low Harry almost missed it. " I know this year has been trouble, what with the slurs, with Malfoy, without Harry. But I won't leave you behind… if you tried, if you did something, I would drag you with me, kicking and screaming if I had to. But, Hermione, you have to not want to be left."

And then, with the sound of crunching gravel, Harry saw Ron's form, his balled-up expression of pain, his sweat-slicked forehead and pale face, slip right past his place of hiding and toward the castle beyond them. For a while after that there was nothing but the quiet, and for a moment Harry thought Hermione had left as he slowly turned to spare a glance around the corner, but she remained standing there, face carefully blank, her gaze on the spot Ron once occupied.

Before she lowered that gaze to the book in her grip and cracked it open, a slow smile bringing more life back to her cheeks-tear tracked and wet. "I am doing something," she whispered.

"For you. For us."

A growl then, almost _inhuman_ in its intensity.

"I'll get him back."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Colin Creevey was not the brightest boy-wizard.

Harry wouldn't have even said he was the brightest _laziest_ most inconsiderate boy-Muggleborn.

What he was was an annoyance, one that constantly followed him almost as much as the shy acting Ginevra or the pale-faced Weasley. For a time, the Circle had kept him occupied, coldly brushing off his inquiries about Harry for him with indifference and steel patience. They were always around him, _protecting_ him from the flash of the camera or the babbling questions that came from a boy who seemed less interested in learning more about the world around him and more interested about falling into the illusion of Harry's proposed fame. He was, by definition, worth little of Harry's time and even worse, the sort of scum that made Draco grind his teeth and Blaise begin his idle complaints about Muggleborns all over again.

Just when Harry thought his little collective were starting to learn the right school of thought.

It was easily corrected though, brushed off as a ripple in the endless pond of talent. There would always be dirt, he'd reasoned, among the gentry. Always mud among those who wanted to prove themselves. Colin was just another example of peasantry and Dumbledore's allowance of the camera was another misleading venture to bring fear and paranoia to the elite. This was a ruse, an allowed and horrid one, to drive them to wrong-thought and a lack of unity and Harry was less than tolerant of the interruption.

So, he found himself somewhat lucky that he'd come upon the boy, who had just taken a picture of a dripping Luna Lovegood as she wandered, almost carelessly, into the hall. Parkinson and Greengrass, his current companions, looked more than a little put out, but he thought it had more to do with the seaweed in her hair and the bottle caps strung up around her throat than the boy pressuring the security of their world with his irritating technology.

"Ms. Lovegood," Harry said, curious about her appearance and the way she looked, almost longingly, in his direction, "do you need any help?"

Though Pansy was somewhat stiff neither she nor Daphne said anything about his greeting nor the steps he took to approach the pair. Yet, when Creevey turned around, camera in hand, Pansy was swift to unveil her wand and fling it forward in practice graceful motion, her hissed ' _accio'_ filled with real bite.

The camera was torn from Creevey's grip with so much force that the boy was flung forward and fell flat on his face.

Harry stepped over him, frown in place as Daphne muttered a quick drying spell toward the girl, apathetic and yet anticipatory of his needs.

"Harry James Potter," Luna bobbed her dry, if now fuzzy, head.

"Where are your shoes? Your socks…?" Daphne uttered, before she coughed, aware that she hadn't been given permissions to address Harry's guest.

He only smiled and made a motion at Luna's feet, an urging for the girl to answer.

"It's difficult to hold onto one's things in the time of the infected," Luna started, her tone that lovely chorus of dreams and half-rationality. Yet, it was her gaze, twisting with the shadows of her ire and the dark silvery pockets of her mystery, that allowed Harry to _understand_ more than what was ever said. "They aren't kind, you know. They can't be, not here, not there."

Behind them Creevey was getting to his feet, breathing hard, but Harry kept his gaze on Luna as she continued to speak, "I thought it was nargles, at first, changing the thoughts. I think it's something else, the wrongness of thought."

She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, "They bleed, always, first of mind then of body. It spreads, that infection, until they know nothing else. Inconvenient, really, but tolerable. I'll just have to step over it. The blood."

Behind him Harry heard the sudden _snap_ of cheap plastics and the collapse of an object on the floor. He didn't bother to look, he knew, based on Creevey's sudden yell, that Pansy had done something unspeakable to his camera.

"Who was it?" He uttered, calm, interested.

"Ravenclaws, for now. More later, I suspect."

Daphne glanced from Harry to Luna, then back to Harry again. "One of the Patil sisters told me they call her Looney. Looney Luna, or some such nonsense."

Luna smiled gently, lifted a hand toward Daphne before she frowned and dropped it, "I'm dirty, so I cannot touch. Not yet. I need to be… _clean_."

Daphne swallowed nervously, gaze somewhat wide, nostrils flared.

Harry chuckled, "That's a secret, Ms. Lovegood. However, did you…?"

She shook her head and motioned behind him and finally Harry turned, if only to watch Pansy laugh and kick at the shattered camera pieces, while Creevey, with tears in his eyes, glared at them all.

"How could you stand there, how could you let her do this?"

Harry shrugged, "She is not a dog, for which I command."

He sneered, "That's not what the rumors say, that's not what-"

"Rumors are interesting. Little legacies, a little bit of fact, not enough truth. Still important, if you use them right."

Creevey switched his glare from Harry to Luna then, and hissed out a- "Shut up!"

Daphne turned to face them fully, tearing her eyes away from the oddity that was Luna and instead made a shooing motion with her hand, "Leave us, wouldn't you? Important people are talking."

He pointed, rather rudely, at Pansy, "And what about her? What about my-"

"-How cheeky. You deserved that, you know." Pansy interrupted and Harry, with boyish charm and a few claps, began to laugh.

That seemed to do it for Creevey, who gathered his broken pieces, tossed one last glare at Harry, then spit right before him.

"You should be _ashamed_ , sticking with people like this. You aren't anything like the books!"

And just as Pansy snarled and lifted her wand he was running, calling for a teacher, for anyone.

A coward.

"Daphne?" Pansy hissed, adjusting her tie.

"Tonight. After dinner. Crabbe should work."

"You'll want Goyle too. It's easier when they are together. They complement each other, it's in the song of their magic, and the _set_ appearance is a nice touch."

His companions tossed a look at him, then to Luna, before they nodded and gave shallow bows, right before they were moving down the hall. To plan their schemes. To avenge his honor.

He turned his attention back to Luna, "The song of their magic?"

"Everyone sings. Though some are softer than others. The ones who are too afraid to barely utter anything at all."

She tilted her head then, pinned him with a _look_ , drew her magic across him in such a way that he felt _it_ again. A buzzing. A careful examination-

And then, it was gone again.

His movement was so sudden he surprised himself. He whipped out his hands, slapped open palms around her arms and pulled her closer, his gaze searching, his magic, his every essence, insanely possessive.

She giggled, such a girlish normal sound, "Did you enjoy it? Their conversation?"

He thought briefly to the way Pansy and Daphne spoke about him, how they instantly knew just what he _wanted_ to hear. He opened his mouth to reply, to hiss out a 'yes' but-

"No. Not _them._ "

His grip tightened, his heart beating within his chest in idle excitement. "You were there?"

She gave that curious _'meowrl'_ sound again, "You were there."

He wasn't going to get much beyond that, was he?

"They hurt."

He remembered those words spoken before, from his faithful, from his familiar.

"Three days… three days and he'll come. Four days and…"

Well, here she chuckled, lifted her dirty muck covered fingertips to brush across his clean robes, his cheeks, his hair. He barely paid the act much attention and he whispered, suddenly, "Say it, would you? Let me know, let me hear-"

She sighed, dreamily, "My Lord."

And he _grinned_.


	5. first friend

"End of year exams are coming up."

"That it is."

"Do you suspect they'll be done with all this… you know, heir business, by then?"

Breakfast wasn't the best place to have a conversation on Hogwarts' ability to efficiently and competently solve a major issue, but Draco and Blaise took it upon themselves to hold council anyway, with voices low and tones carefully empty. Harry thought the action was admirable, their false-concern for the poor lives and wellbeing of Muggleborn students. He had to wonder if they tapered down their excitement about the situation for him, as if he held some sentimental value toward the lives of muck just because his mother happened to be one. It was a useless action, overall. He held little care for those beyond his immediate collection (the Circle or otherwise) and defending the honor of the dead was an idea that had died as soon as he'd accepted the greatness of freedom beyond freedom.

Those that proved themselves to hold no value weren't worth his time or concern, so it was no wonder that he felt no need to react when whispers came to him from other tables, tables that held strained conversation and drawn tight expressions, considering-

"Just like that, I heard. Just like that. One wrong move and-"

"-But, you must admit, he went looking for trouble-"

"-and that's an excuse, is it? An excuse to be… well…"

"Don't be so insensitive about the ordeal, the Gryffindors are right mad-"

"Mad? They look scared to me."

Harry gave a soft laugh around a mouth full of sausage before he grunted and swallowed. It was enough to draw the attention of his whispering Slytherin companions, but it wasn't their words that held his attention, it was the words that continued to flow in from around him, some tinted with disgust-

"So, who from Slytherin do you suppose it is? You know they don't much care for, erm, Muggleborns-"

Some with curiosity-

"Malfoy, you'd think. Thought he'd have bragged by now if it had anything to do with this or that, though."

And some with a healthy amount of fear and cowardice-

"W-well I don't have anything to worry about. Since, you know, I'm a pureblood and all. Yup, about four generations worth so-"

"Harry," Draco's voice interrupted, cutting through the droning whispers of those around him just as a particularly pale Weasley walked into the Great Hall, causing a strained hush to blanket the space. It was enough to prompt Harry to glance over his shoulder, to briefly make eye-contact with the shaken boy as he began to draw closer. Cautious, instead of self-righteous.

Immediately, to Harry's left, Crabbe twisted around, prompting Goyle to do the same, both of them prepared for an encounter as the whispers started up again.

But Ron was careful in his approach, hands up in a universal sign of 'safe surrender' before he croaked out a, "Mr. Potter."

His voice was shaky, his brow furrowed, before he tried again, "Mr. Potter."

Harry held up a hand, a motion for Crabbe and Goyle to settle, which they did immediately, unified and trained.

It was then, once the bulk of the Great Hall's attention was upon him, that he spoke, "Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

He would have been lying to himself if he wasn't curious about Ron's behavior. He hadn't seemed like the type to adhere to title or propriety, but the fact that he had addressed him with a sign of respect deserved some attention.

"I… May we speak," Ron cleared his throat, nervous, "M-may we speak in private at your earliest convenience?"

From the corner of his eye Harry saw Blaise raise a brow, his lips turned down hard in disbelief.

"As if we'd allow you to go about harassing our-"

But Harry was swift with an interruption, "It may take some time, Mr. Weasley. I'm very busy, you see. And, of course, with the heir business afoot…"

Ron winced, his gaze somewhat narrowed but his posture remained straight, and his flesh wasn't flushed with irritation or anger. An improvement in behavior. "Yes, of course. I…"

He swallowed once, twice, then started the speak again. "I know it isn't you, I know it isn't."

Harry gave a slight nod, a smile set to split his lips, something sly and almost playful, had it not been for the shadows that gathered in the depths of his gaze and the idle tingle of magic that came to his fingertips, "Oh? Yes, I can understand that. Since, they seem to think it might be you."

Now, Ron hunched in on himself. Now, he nervously wrung his hands together, and as he let his shields crumble-those that had been carefully wound around his emotions-Harry could clearly see the dark purple bags beneath his gaze, a gaze that lacked vibrancy, and the fine tremble along his arms. His shoulders were slouched, weighed down with the burden of a mantle he couldn't have possibly carried but lions were vicious and quick to turn on their own it seemed when you were supposedly the last one seen with the missing and unaccounted for.

"I know," he didn't bother to defend himself, it would have been only the fool that believed a Weasley capable of such guile and directionless hatred, "Dumbledore hasn't even bothered to quell the rumors either."

Dumbledore, Harry noticed, instead of the Headmaster. Instead of Professor. Instead of some asinine tone of respect that Hermione would have no doubt forced them to adhere to. Hermione, who sat at the Gryffindor table, with her head in a book and an intense look of study upon her face. He wondered, idly, if Ron relished that freedom, if their duo had been destroyed and irreparable since the night he'd seen them argue. Maybe, eventually, he'd ask him. Maybe, he'd reevaluate Ron's worth if he held the ability to act out on his own.

"And is it?  _You_  that is?" Harry asked innocently to the backdrop of Draco's snort and Blaise rude sharp bark of laughter.

"I…" he frowned for a moment before he gave Harry a tired but still sly grin, "Who knows, really?"

Ah, now that was interesting.

Harry returned that look with tilted head and quirked brow, "I see. Then, tell me, what happened to Mr. Creevey?"

Here Ron took a deep breath and then, with a shrug, he said, "Heck if I know. Nobody has seen him since last night."

Behind him Draco shifted slightly to lean over and whisper something to Pansy, who grunted in response and shoved him away from her ear.

"I asked Percy about it," Ron mumbled, unaware or uncaring that he was giving away Gryffindor information to a Slytherin, "but he just acted nonplussed. Said he'd look for him later, but with the uh... nasty business of the heir afoot…" Ron shook his head then, snorted, "and the fact that he was screaming bloody murder about you and your ah… 'gang' about the camera, well…"

Harry nodded, "I hope he's found soon, then."

Ron returned the nod with a distracted mumble, "Hopefully. Ever since they found me at the Justin site they haven't been all that kind, you know. They keep asking me where he is, that Creevey kid. Bloody hell if I should know."

Harry nodded in mock-sympathy, "Of course."

But, before Ron could say anything more Harry turned back around, more or less to pay proper attention to those that had earned his focus, and the Nott heir that approached with arms full of parchment and a book or two balanced precariously among his other possessions.

"I'll send someone for you when I am ready."

"Thank you," Ron whispered, "Thank you, Harry."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Harry had a deep understanding of the hierarchy he cultivated within the Circle. He had managed to, slowly but surely, accumulate most of the important young lordlings and ladies that occupied his year. He'd bound them, tightly, within a web of power and greed. He'd left them hungry and wildly fanatic about the overall mystery of his ability, the vagueness of his origin, and the strength he kept carefully under control within him. They were selfish, occupying the bulk of his time with their playful mannerisms and grand ideals while keeping those they thought unworthy from his person with cunning viciousness. They whispered around him often, pleased at their work, as they kept him secluded, protected,  _theirs_ , with all the eagerness of treasure hoarding dragons.

He belonged to them, they must have thought. He was theirs to worship. Theirs to bask with. Theirs to teach and train and in return be taught. All the while Harry tightened the chains of ownership and manipulated them in a way that went beyond their idle perceptions. His magic, though soothing, was possessive. It clung to him, to the walls, to the space around him and in turn to the occupants settled in it. Harry suspected that Draco was unaware when Harry gently fed his ire, made him almost wild with the need to keep back to rabble. He found pleasure in fueling Theo's desire to please, to research, to grow all their intellect and make them study with an intensity born from wanting their collective to be notable and irrefutable. He expanded his security by nudging the desire to be alert and attentive in Crabbe and Goyle, and kept his secrets of prosperity safely tucked away beyond the mental walls of a fiercely protective Blaise, a grand advisor in the making.

But, his boys were only a piece of the puzzle, of the empire, he intended to master.

He invited, rather often, the diligent Daphne out and about, eager to pick her mind as he unabashedly looped a rope around her neck. The Greengrass heiress was a well of cultural insight, a proprietress in the making whose desire for power Harry had found and warped until she thought his presence just a bit  _more_ than delightful. Pansy, though somewhat reluctant, had proved to be just as valuable a tool in his search for  _family_ , with her vicious words and passionate dedication to a cause that would bring them the esteem they'd all secretly yearned for.

So, it was no wonder that he knew, for the most part, their reactions to certain stimulus. For example, he knew that Draco was somewhat unhappy with Harry's affirmation that he would give Ron some of his time, in private. He could tell by the way his magic slipped about his skin, how it jerked with a particular moodiness when his own magic reacted-reaching out with a soothing coil to ease the nervous anxiety that no doubt curled in Draco's belly. Yet, Pansy, who tapped her fingers with a confused impatience next to him, was even more of a giveaway to one fact-

Whatever was to be blamed for Creevey's disappearance, it was not his court that had attended to it. In fact, by the crease of Pansy's brow and the way she chewed on her bottom lip, it was clear that she was upset that their hunt for him the other day had been a fruitless venture. Still, Harry said little, enjoying the crunch of bacon and the rich flavor of his toast and jam that morning with little interruption set to come thereafter, even as his collective whispered and hissed around him, buzzing once more with careful plans that they may have presumed beneath him.

Still, he smiled, pleased at their subconscious elevation of his person.

So much that even a droll and fumbling class taught by the boisterous Mr. Lockhart was barely consequential.

"So, is anyone able to answer the question? Anyone at all?" The Professor whapped a rather long and thin stick toward the chalkboard, all presentation with little flare. "It isn't that difficult, is it? Why, I taught you all the incantation last week!"

Barely.

But it was somewhat odd that the question went unanswered. Specifically, the room itself seemed  _off_ , filled with an awkward sort of silence that surely had little to do with the disappearance of Mr. Creevey and more to do with…

Well, the absence of eager keening and a shifting stool as a particular swot tried to answer the questions.

But Hermione was  _quiet_ , staring at the board with heavy-lidded gaze and her quill trapped between her teeth, her books open to various pages and her fingertip tapping her parchment bound notebook. She didn't even twitch when Ron, settled at her side with a bit of reluctance, turned to glance at her as if even he expected her to flail in her desperation to answer. After all, ultimately, Lockhart had asked an incredibly easy question and if it was one thing Hermione no doubt enjoyed doing it was gaining recognition off perfect opportunity.

But no answer came.

Next to him Theo cleared his throat, before, with hands linked before him he said- "I can answer, Professor."

And that was the end of that.

But the next class, one held after a fast-paced lunch, was Potions and-

"-and I presume that something as bothersome as knowing what phase the moon is for a night-brew might be beyond students such as yourselves…"

It was as brutal as usual, filled with mild connections toward the obscure amongst more brilliant scatters of actual information. Harry found Snape's teaching style to be somewhat delightful now that he was no longer on the receiving end of admonishment. Now that his mind was free, free to absorb, free to reason, free to be  _more_ , he often came to the class well-beyond prepared. It helped that Draco seemed fond, if not overly attentive, in his diligence and study of Potions. He'd helped Harry catch up to an acceptable level over the summer, away from prying eyes and nervous antics. That casual study had blossomed into passion and that passion had transformed into a little more than proficiency.

He admired Snape's ability to remain chillingly cordial during the class considering past aggressions and  _fixed_  perceptions, but he held some insight-courtesy of Draco-that the professor had been impressed with his game of catch-up. A game that hadn't stopped. A game that had earned him his fair share of points for near-perfect liquids during the first half of the year. A quietly applauded achievement by the Circle.

But now his professor seemed particularly on edge-and maybe that could be blamed on the missing Creevey, who had yet to show themselves. Or maybe the fact that, for the past few classes, Neville had become more assured and less easily rattled. He stalked before their classroom with hands behind his back and nose tilted upward in a mockery of humble thought. He was a devious man, though harsh and cruel, and his style of motivation was a hassle, but he was competent and some of them-most of them, Harry suspected-learned  _enough_ , which kept his grumpy professor in occupation with the ability to be as intimidating as he pleased.

"So then, could one of you, any of you, tell me why exactly it would be unwise to brew this particular potion during the new moon? No, let me rephrase that, I fear the level of difficulty…"

He paused and lifted a hand to tap lightly at his chin in contemplation before he drawled, without a note of curiosity, "Why are some potions better brewed at dusk instead of dawn? Why are some ingredients crushed instead of sliced?"

There was a snort from someone in the back, a someone that Snape called upon immediately-

"And do you know, Mr. Finnigan?"

That snort rolled into a bit of a cough before the Gryffindor in question cleared his throat well enough to answer, "I uh… because the instructions tell us to do so, sir?"

That got a laugh or two, mostly from his own house, before such sound was quelled with only a dry look in the direction of the disturbance.

"No, Mr. Finnigan, that is not correct." Snape drew the weight of his gaze and his ire upon the boy then and Harry repressed a slight smile as the halfblood squirmed in his seat. "Instructions are not available every time and though these are barely fourth year concepts it's not difficult to assume that it's important to understand why something is done, not just do it.

"So, perhaps, Mr. Finnigan, I will mark a few instructions on the board-oh don't look so glum, it would be of a potion you've already surely accomplished-and see if you can brew it while avoiding any notable… traps?"

Snape's only received answer was a gulp and a slouch from the boy in question before the professor shook his head and moved on, "Or maybe not. Maybe you are incapable of doing more than just following directions, but that's alright you see, tools are necessary for any field of work and some would enjoy a tool that is… good at following instructions."

And yet… "But I find it rare that you're capable of doing even that."

He shifted just slightly, a couple of steps to the left, closer to the Slytherins, closer to Harry's table which housed Draco to his left and Theo to his right. To the only group that might have understood his question.

Except…

"And so, I ask again, why do we prepare in the manner we prepare?"

Silence.  _Again_.

With a tilted head Snape tossed his gaze back to the Gryffindors, before he spoke what was no doubt on all their minds- "Ms. Granger?"

Hermione lifted her gaze from an open book, quill ink splattered on her fingertips, "Yes, Professor. Sir?"

Her tone was a bit distracted and her gaze distant, as if she'd been deep in thought. Again, Ron looked at her, his face pulled into a grimace of frustration.

"How odd for you to not know an answer to something, isn't it? I must admit I expected your hand to be the first one in the air." Snape sniffed for a moment, head tilted in false-interest, "Or, maybe, you aren't paying me any attention?"

Slowly, Hermione stretched out her arms and adjusted the position of her books and parchment, but wordlessly she shook her head, as if that was answer enough.

It wasn't, "What was that? You… weren't paying attention?"

"I was," she whispered, somewhat nervous as her gaze flickered around the bulk of the class, landing upon Harry before, in a blink, it was back upon Snape, "I was."

"Then, is the class to assume that the reason you didn't have your hand in the air is because you don't know the answer?" Snape seemed oddly pleased by that, to be able to know something that rattled Hermione's know-it-all atmosphere.

Harry knew better. She knew, some portion of her certainly.

"I… I know the… answer," she whispered, looking uncomfortable.

"You do?" Snape seemed unconvinced.

But perhaps, this once, just this once, she wasn't eager to play the role of the swot.

"Then please, share with the class."

She swallowed once, twice, then sighed-as if defeated, "It's potency."

"Potency? Explain."

She wriggled her fingers across the edge of her books, either unaware or uncaring that she'd get them smudged-odd, "It's the reason some ingredients must be crushed instead of sliced. It's in the juice or the… potency of whatever you're adding. You want to get the best, the most amount of the object so that your brew has an acceptable level of power. Likewise, if you wish to lower the potency on, say, a bottle of Veritaserum you could cleverly slice this or that instead of strain, so one has to be certain they do  _just_ what the instructions-depending on the potion, of course- say least the entire purpose of the potion twist or break down into something  _else_ -"

"Ms. Granger," Snape interrupted, gaze somewhat narrowed, "where is it that one such as yourself would have heard of Veritaserum?"

"Oh!" She cleared her throat a bit, the vibrancy that had come to life within her during her explanation fleeing with a few rapid blinks, "I've been-"

"Reading?" Snape presumed before he shook his head and turned away, back to his lesson and his idle beratement of intelligence, even as Hermione slouched in her seat and narrowed her gaze, lips curled up in a sneer of discontent.

A rather… disrespectful action, Harry noted.

The bulk of his attention thereafter was upon her. Hermione, who always double checked the board to make sure she was stirring precisely how she should, didn't even bother to give it a glance as she added this and that. Hermione, who never chewed on her fingernails with mild anxiety. Hermione, whose magic was twisting beyond her control in idle tendrils that made her hair shift ever so slightly.

And Ron, who watched her work with slight bemusement and mild concern but said nothing as she slapped his reaching hand and palmed a fistful of powder Harry was  _absolutely_  certain she hadn't measured properly.

And yet, her potion still met the acceptable-expected-level of performance, shifting to a thick yellow paste that was quickly bottled and placed carefully upon Snape's desk.

She didn't even look at him as she hurried past.

And when he looked at Ron in mild question he only scowled and rubbed his still red smacked hand.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They found Mr. Creevey after dessert had been served. One moment the Gryffindors were serving themselves cake and pies and the next Mr. Creevey's stiff unresponsive body collided heavily with a large bowl of reddish-tinted pudding. The reaction was  _instant_ , a loudly screeched 'OY!' from a splattered Weasley twin and a scream from a pale first year as it became clear that Mr. Creevey's body was not a decoration or piece of rock cake that had fallen into the nearby confection. There was a moment or two, from one heartbeat to the next, before  _chaos_  broke loose in the form of other screaming students and fleeing Gryffindors swept up in the excited wave of forming madness.

There was a sudden sea of blue and yellow that stood from their tables and likewise several Slytherins did the same, more in defense than any sort of fright at the appearance of the body. Despite dinner once being a tense if not silent affair the entire hall was lit with the gasps and garbled shouts of the disturbed, terrified, and in Pansy's case-disgusted.

"Damnit," she uttered under her breath, a phrase Harry had to strain to hear as he stood from his place and palmed his wand in caution, "the heir got to him first?"

"Should have put a claim on your prey," Blaise mumbled casually, though his attention was on the bulk of the scrambling hall and the now very disgruntled professors that swept from the main table to manage the ridiculousness of the entire scenario.

Only McGonagall stayed behind, her face flushed in red-was it rage or embarrassment or a combination of both?-and her gaze leveled so  _heatedly_  upon Dumbledore, who leaned over the table with slightly parted lips. His own gaze was not upon the professors who began to pull Creevey's body from the pudding or the Gryffindors who-some of which-were sobbing and outraged.

No, it was on him, a gaze of full on introspection, somewhat narrowed as Harry tilted his head and returned it. But it moved on quickly-drawn by the sudden shout of a nervous Hufflepuff, Smith was it?-and if Harry hadn't caught him in the act, he would have thought Dumbledore's attention had never lingered.

Smith had drawn his wand though, so he supposed that was far more important-

"Weasley!" Smith yelled, arm trembling as he drew it across a line of Gryffindors, Gryffindors that parted like an enchanted sea once the screech echoed over the hall, loud enough to cut through the unfortunate rambling of the students that remained there.

Ronald was shoved to the front by a couple of hands belonging to irate upper-years while a teacher-Lockhart in this instance-glanced up from wiping a smudge of pudding off his face.

"Now now," he grumbled, not paying too much attention as other professors-seeing that Lockhart had stepped up to remove Creevey from the pudding-ran off to corral a few of the students that had departed while Dumbledore slipped through the administrative doorway with a harshly whispering Deputy-Head behind him.

Which left the student body alone with Snape and the widely smiling defense wizard.

Snape, who merely stood with his calm and settled Slytherins before he casually leaned against the table, one hand on the wood and the other rubbing his chin. He looked pensive, and a little… eager. Harry had a good guess as to why since Lockhart's grumbled grab for attention had done little to stop Smith from pointing his wand in Ronald's direction.

"Weasley, w-we've had enough of this! Enough of your terror!"

Ronald looked flabbergasted for a brief moment, surprised, "My terror?"

"You heard me!" Smith's scowl was  _tainted_  by the wild look in his gaze, by the storms of desperation there and a sort of… opportunistic gleam, "It's time someone took charge and ended this. If the professors won't then I, Zacharias Smith,  _thee_  pureblood heir to Hufflepuff, will stop you!"

For whatever reason, a cluster of students were making it difficult for Lockhart to properly get to the scene. He was trapped on the edges, muttering excuse-me's to deaf ears as most of them-even Harry was compelled to do so-began to form a semicircle around Smith's  _performance._

There was a hum in the space, Harry could feel it crawling across his skin, an odd sort of  _pleasure_ , an excitement that felt different from Snape's own cruel amusement and yet so closely  _aligned_  that he almost thought… Yes, there it was, a pull, an  _ache_  in his very being, a lure that pulsed and beat heat across his forehead. Something that screamed  _Him_  and yet didn't-

His heart rattled in his chest. His magic sang. His blood howled, and for a brief moment he was delirious with profound  _joy…_  Something in him, that piece that had merged with his being and given him  _life_ , felt a connection and just  _snapped_  with near physical weight. The billow of emotions that swept through him weren't his own and yet they  _were_. The magic that brushed against him, thick and almost  _angry_ , manic and  _happy_  and and… and something  _more_  was so potent he could taste it as he swallowed. Flecks of red twisted among the darker greens of his gaze and Harry almost,  _almost_ , twisted about on the heels of his feet like an eager puppy to search for that signal, that sign that He was out there among them, somewhere, somehow-

This idle pulse, this brush of familiar magic against his own, was so distracting that he scarcely noticed when Ronald barked out a crazed laugh and began to flail his arms about, screaming that he'd had nothing to do with the scene but he would gladly take on the burden if they needed  _someone_ to blame because all of them were too stupid to see-

To see…

To see that He was not  _here_.

But something  _else_  was?

Lockhart had finally managed to push to the front of the circle just as the first spell was flung from Smith, who yapped out something or another as Ron dove out the way of the hex intended for his person. It slammed right into the slight girl behind him-Ginerva, Harry noted-and she was flung back into the arms of Hermione, who managed to catch the girl with only grunt from the impact.

Immediately that sickeningly pleasant magic, emotion and all, was  _cut._

He snarled at the interruption, even as his heart continued to beat heavily against his ribs. If only Lockhart had managed the scene sooner than maybe, maybe, he could have pinpointed that… that  _feeling_  and found out  _why_ it had existed in the first place. Instead, he watched as Lockhart literally had to wrestle Smith to the ground, prompting a groan from Snape who finally strode forward, looking somewhat uncomfortable and annoyed, and Ron twisted around to care for his sister still semi-held up in Hermione's embrace as nasty boils began to swell and blister all over her person.

One breath.

Then another.

And with a parting gaze toward Ginerva that slipped over to a carefully placed Neville, Harry turned to his Circle, all of which were stiff and alert, so acutely turned to his magic and moods.

"Theo, a word please. To the dungeons."

Then, as one, they left behind a scene that was rapidly turning into a  _circus._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Heir Parkinson, Heir Greengrass."

"Yes, my Lord?"

They answered as one unit, perfectly synchronized and attentive. All of them were, even as they stood and waited for him to give them the unspoken signal to join him in lounging on their gathered chairs within their claimed and sacred space. He didn't bother to look at them, the Circle, as he lifted a thick and poorly bound book of wrinkled parchment out of his satchel and onto his lap. He knew they would obey, that they would remain stiff-backed and courteous until he bid them otherwise. But, he was not  _that_ cruel and today was not a day for games of will to reaffirm his dominance.

He gave a slight nod, and they sat, Blaise within a plush chair with Crabbe settled on the arm of it. Goyle on the floor with a heavy grunt and slouch with his back against the couch Harry had claimed. Theo, to Harry's right, with his bundles of notes and books brought in from the Nott libraries. Pansy, a dramatic lump that leaned against his left-to which his lips twitched in slight smirk at her bravery-while Daphne lifted Pansy's feet off the couch so that there was room for herself before she allowed them to settle on her lap. Which left Draco to the floor, a position he only shrugged at before he settled back and against Harry's legs with all the grace of a pureblood heir.

Perfect.

"What have you heard?'

Pansy and Daphne were respectable individuals in what Harry could only describe as a circuit of information. They were his ears, listening for strange but valuable tidbits of knowledge obscure enough to be passed through word of mouth instead of through parchment and ink. He found their gossip so much more than simplistic girlish rumors. That gave him an edge, an edge he fully intended to utilize.

Pansy gave a huff before she, somewhat rudely, fell back onto Harry's lap and his book before linking her arms behind her head, "Ravenclaw isn't as frazzled about the entire ordeal as much as Gryffindor or even Hufflepuff. Word is that Lovegood is a more interesting topic to them. Over Yule break a third year attempted to steal something from her-the information isn't clear on what-and after a successful snatching the girl accused was found half-frozen in the infirmary from a nasty spill in the lake. Heir or no heir, they're far too eager about that mystery to be bothered about much else."

Harry repressed a smile and instead lifted a hand to shift fingers through the fine and silky texture of Draco's hair as he leaned his head against his knee. With a deep breath and a loud sigh, he felt the boy relax further against him, "Gryffindor?"

With a squeeze to Pansy's ankle Daphne said, "Ronald Weasley is number one suspect for Heir of Slytherin-"

"A wise assessment," Theo snorted.

"-but Patil, Parvati to be clear, is very aware that there is little in his bloodline to suggest such. The next Most Ancient and Noble family in his line is a Black, but nothing as substantial as say… a Gaunt. This would have been decades ago, by the way."

There was a collective sound of curiosity from the Circle, but Harry only motioned for Daphne to continue.

"Most suspect Weasley due to a combination of unfortunate inconveniences but no real proof. They found him at the previous site without much excuse as to why he'd been there. Dean Thomas said that Ron was the last one to see Creevey after he begged some upper year to do something about the camera-"

Here Daphne paused to look to a smirking Pansy who practically beamed with pride about  _that_ incident-

"-because he was howling bloody murder about  _you_ , Harry, being the heir. To which Weasley told him, to 'shut his bloody yapper ' intermingled with threats of taking his tongue."

Goyle gave a sharp laugh that ended abruptly, silenced by the knock to his noggin from Daphne's balled fist and a look of ire tossed at the back of his head.

"And Hufflepuff?"

"Bones," Pansy took over, "said she heard some crying by the first-floor bathroom, boys room. She thought about investigating but a couple of sixth years went in and told whoever it was to knock it off."

Harry held up a hand for a moment and with tilted head he said, "Did Bones confirm if that was Creevey?"

"We can only assume that after Ron yelled at him he might have gone somewhere quiet to… be embarrassed."

"And," Harry pondered, "If he'd been run out of the first-floor bathroom, the next quiet place could have been the haunted bathroom… is it confirmed that he left the first-floor bathroom?"

"No, I wasn't able to get a witness or even a rumor of a witness seeing him leave after his scolding."

Which made pinpointing where Creevey had been a bit difficult.

"He was stiff. Petrified," Harry mused, "his body didn't so much as twitch when he fell."

Theo sat up a little straighter then, noticing his cue, "The Chamber of Secrets was host to a beast, a monster that was meant to cleanse the school of undesirables."

Harry nodded.

"That beast hasn't… killed anything yet, Flint claims it's only a matter of time though."

To this statement Draco nodded, it was something he'd said himself.

"There is something… odd happening. It is suspicious that the beast hasn't killed, like in the past-"

"The past?" Harry interrupted.

"A girl died last time in the… uh, haunted bathroom. Muggleborn."

Now Harry gave a thoughtful hum, "I've been there once. I think. When the troll attacked and Weasley and I saved Granger. It had an odd feel to it, around here, the dungeons, isn't it? It's a strange place, you know. Never heard of a ghost there though-"

"Longbottom saw it, her actually. Said she was rather unhappy with them when they were down there-"

"Right." Harry said, an abrupt cutoff as he used his free hand to tug slightly at Pansy's hair, to which she barely reacted. He didn't want to hear about Longbottom in the haunted bathroom, the bathroom where they'd made that potion with near perfection. The bathroom where Longbottom had  _disobeyed_  to keep an eye on his…  _friends_.

Nervously, Blaise cleared his throat but continued, only slightly uncomfortable with the interruption, "Well, the story  _I've_ heard goes that she was killed in that bathroom by Slytherin's monster. They didn't find Creevey there though he was…" Blaise frowned, "Hiding, invisibly, above the Gryffindor table pudding."

"But not dead though," Pansy grumbled unhappily.

Harry only gave a playful rumble to that statement.

"Either way, this isn't the first time this has happened. Last time they blamed that Hagrid fellow."

"The groundskeeper?" Draco mumbled.

Theo looked through a few parchments before nodding to confirm Blaise statement, "Yes, arrested for breeding something or… another. They thought that might have been the issue…"

There was a sound, a soft clearing of the throat and Pansy sat up abruptly as Tracey Davis stood before them, looking a bit nervous. "Hrm… um."

Pansy narrowed her eyes before she mumbled a soft apology and scrambled off the couch to firmly lead Tracey away from the group.

Harry left them to their illusion of privacy before turning back to the Circle, "So the real question is, what could the beast be and how is it doing whatever it is it's doing…"

"Does it matter much?" Crabbe interrupted, and Draco grew stiff against his leg. "It's just that, it's only hurtin' the Muggleborns, so…"

"Of course, it matters," Harry whispered, his magic a mischievous curl across the flesh of those closest to him. Draco shuddered and tilted his head back, gaze glassy and Daphne squirmed in her seat, somewhat apprehensive, "the school is in danger, you know. The longer this goes on, the less… secure people will suspect the space to be."

He tilted his head as Crabbe wrinkled his nose, "But, we'll be safe, right?"

"Supposedly. But, who do you suspect will get the blame for all this if it continues?"

"Weasley?" Crabbe grinned.

"Maybe," Harry murmured but his tone was decidedly unimpressed. He sat up just a bit before he leaned forward, his shoulders rolling in a listless shrug. "Most likely it would be Dumbledore, it's his job to keep  _them_  safe after all. And, possibly, Weasley might get the blame for a time. But eventually that blame will roll back to us, those of the brave and courageous in Slytherin."

Harry pouted, just a bit, a little disappointed that nobody seemed captured by the genius of his… joke, but his magic did tend to suffocate them when he got this way, when he wanted to drive home his  _point_  and the weight of his teachings. "And, as you know, Mr. Crabbe, I am all about turning our house into one of esteem and reverence. I have no desire to be the  _rat_  of Hogwarts, shuffled in with the filth and sneered at due to the rabbles incompetence and misplaced perceptions of the past. To dominate, to  _conquer_ , we must seriously contemplate this single fact, that we can assume it is our  _place_  to be blamed, to be the untrusted. That our Headmaster is content with our lack of progression, as we desperately hold onto what little rights we maintain without the finesse and cunning we are known for."

He looked to them all, stared at them with flecks of red among the twisted green of his gaze. He let them fill pinned beneath his stare and allowed them to witness the passion of his...  _love_  for them. "But I… I will do whatever it takes to return us to a decade of prosperity, worship, and wealth. To steal back what has been  _taken_ and  _twisted_  away from us _._ "

Blaise trembled, his hand balled into a fist, his expression a fierce twist of longing while Goyle nodded, almost mindlessly.

"I want you to understand, Mr. Crabbe, that solving this issue is only a portion of what it will take for us to conquer, that we aren't theorizing this mess because we  _care_  about Muggleborns so much as we care about ourselves and our education. They could close Hogwarts for this and that would be unfortunate. After all, academia is very important, right?"

Crabbe's throat flexed, and he drew in a raspy breath before he croaked out a, "Y-yeah, uh huh."

Harry watched him and relished the memories that flickered in his gaze. He enjoyed watching Crabbe recall the  _lesson_  on attempting intelligence, on the  _motivation_  Harry had given him on the cold hard floor of the Slytherin Common Room when he'd failed,  _again_ , to understand why not doing one's homework reflected badly on Draco-as the vassalage holder-and Harry… as-

"M-my Lord," Crabbe croaked again, before he fell to his knees and pressed his nose against the cold stone, "I'm sorry, sorry for my doubt."

Harry slowly leaned back with a curious hum and a simple nod, "It's fine. I'm here for you, you know, to help you understand why I want you to better yourself. If you ever have any questions, any needs… I'll take care of them, for you."

Crabbe didn't remove himself from the floor, he only nodded his head against the stone.

"Now now, don't do that. Pansy is coming back, and I don't want her to have to step over you, it isn't gentlemanly to inconvenience a lady. Go. Back to your seat."

With a relieved expression, he took his spot back on the arm of Blaise's chair.

Pansy said nothing as she reclaimed her spot on the couch and Tracey returned to the general fold of Slytherins that mingled, curious but cautious, about them. Too far to hear, but not so far away that they hadn't noticed Crabbe's performance of servitude.

Good.

"News," Pansy said, linking her fingers together, "Ministry came by after dinner with utmost urgency. They took the groundskeeper."

Harry snorted, "Of course they did."

"Odd enough some Aurors came to walk Weasley to the Headmasters office. No one has any clue what's come of that yet."

Which meant there would be no private conversations with Weasley just yet, though… hadn't Lovegood stated as much?

"House arrest?"

"Possibly."

Harry allowed the conversation to lull into silence then before he tilted his head, "Theo… sometimes the walls talk to me."

 _That_  got his attention, "Excuse me?"

"I said, sometimes the walls talk to me." Harry gave him a  _look_  from the corner of his eye, "Sometimes they talk to me,  _but I have never been a speaker to walls."_

There was a slight hissing sound from his sleeve and the tickle of a tongue against his wrist. His familiar remained out of sight, but he could sense her amusement.

Theo stiffened and inhaled sharply, "I… I'm sorry, my Lord?"

Harry blinked, "Oh, sorry. Was that last bit I said in English?"

He knew it hadn't been.

But slowly, something dawned in Theo's gaze and he stood up from the couch so abruptly that his notes and books fell to a pile on the floor around him, forgotten even as Draco yowled as a particularly heavy transfiguration text bonked him.

"You see," Harry continued, even as Theo grabbed his head with one hand, a motion of deep thought, "it's been a bit distracting, the talking walls, so I wasn't sure… is that a thing Hogwarts does? Do you hear it sometimes to?"

"Hah, no." Goyle snickered, only to grunt as Daphne whapped him on the noggin again.

"No… no, and I wouldn't hear it." Theo whispered.

"Are you sure?" Harry pressed, "Because if only I can hear it that would mean… well, that would mean it's something exclusive to me and, well, sometimes I do hear snakes out in the greenhouses and-"

"Snakes? Snakes in the walls?" Draco whispered.

Theo gave a slow lick of his lips before he stuck out his tongue, "Snakes... Snakes in the walls. Snakes… in the pipes? Does the castle have pipes? Of course, of course it would but, but what sort of snake could…"

Silence, for a time, before Harry tilted his head this way and that and blurted out, "Pansy!"

She jerked, "Y-yeah?"

Ignoring her slight tone of annoyance, he said, "Most obscure and weird piece of info you've heard all year, go!"

"Um," she hesitated, right until Harry gave her a  _look_  and then she was quick to babble. "Once I heard someone say the Weasley twins were offered Slytherin."

Harry gave her an expression of exasperation before he furrowed his brow in thought, "Really? That is… inter-No, that's not... Please, actually try Pansy."

"Right right," She chewed on her bottom lip, "Davis just said the Minister might consider removing Dumbledore from power if this goes on for much longer."

"Yes, yes," Harry nodded, eyes closed, patient.

"There is also talk of a sixth year Ravenclaw disappearing at all hours of the day, people see him walk to the seventh floor and then, poof, but he's always back in his dorm room the next day."

"Mhm."

"Smith, Zacharias, the one who confronted Weasley and has been touting his supposed purity lately claimed earlier this year to be a direct descendant of Helga Hufflepuff herself. Most of Hufflepuff believes him, actually-"

Here Harry frowned, "Remember that information. He said something like that in the Great Hall too. I'll have need of it later."

"Of course," Pansy said, right before whispered, "actually there was something else too."

He quirked a brow, but didn't open his eyes, as he waited for her to speak.

"Over Yule break," there was a bit of hesitance then, before she spoke again, "the groundskeeper made a complaint. Some first year said they heard him practically sobbing to Dumbledore about something."

 _Now_  he opened his eyes and Pansy, almost nervously, rolled her hands back and forth across her lap. "It was uh… I'd dismissed it at first because, really, who cares about such dreadful things but-"

"Pansy, please." Daphne hissed, clearly irritated with the hesitance to deliver her information.

"It's just that," and still she seemed nervous, "it's just animals, his animals, and he does live out in the forest, so I never thought it was important."

"Pansy," Harry said, brow furrowed but he kept his expression delightful even as his patience began to ebb, "I can decide the importance on my own, you see. So…"

The warning was clearly there, and she bobbed her head fiercely, "Of course. Right. Well. He was crying, they say, about roosters. Dead roosters. All slaughtered. Throats cut, blood everywhere. It was a right mess- _he_  was a right mess, covered in the gunk of it."

Pansy opened her mouth to say more but Harry raised a hand, instantly capturing her attention and Theo's whose nostrils flared in sudden realization.

"I don't suspect that any of us were here over the break, is that correct?"

There were various nods from the Circle all around.

"And so, I can assume, there wasn't any need for us to enact or even  _attempt_ a blood based ritual of magic." Not that they were forbidden to do so, he just suspected that sort of complex magic to be beyond their current level, and he himself had yet to find a wizard or witch sturdy enough to attempt the ones he'd been interested in.

He didn't suspect that to change until, at the very least, the summer.

"Furthermore," he continued, "The groundskeeper has been out in the Forbidden Forest for some time now and, this is the first I've heard of a specific animal slaughter… oh, other than the unicorn incidents of first year."

Draco swallowed a bit, but otherwise the Circle remained silent, except for Theo, who collapsed heavily onto the couch back besides Harry, an answer already poised on the tip of his tongue but not yet realized.

So, Harry would help him, "How many magical creature books have you read Theo?"

"Well," Theo said, slowly stretching out the word, "I happened to read ahead a bit and Father does have an extensive book collection."

One Harry hoped to crack into  _very soon_.

"But the knowledge wouldn't have been useful until at least third year, Harry, so I didn't think-"

"But you are thinking now, correct?"

"O-of course."

"Tell me then, Theo, in that no doubt gorgeous library you've combed to near completion, there must have been a book on dark magical creatures."

"Technically, all books of that sort tend to be on dark magical creatures…" Theo's lips twitched, lifted into something sly and triumphant, as his mind made the proper connections.

"Last year, something specifically targeted unicorns." And while they might not be privy to  _what_  had done it, Harry did know, "I think this year something in the forest either has a peculiar diet or doesn't want a specific animal to be alive. An animal that is-"

"A snake, in the walls, leaving children petrified." Theo finished, "Lord Slytherin's monster has been known to kill with its gaze, but it has so far only been able to petrify. Somehow, that gaze must be getting reflected. Creevey is an abnormal because he must have been moved. If he was petrified in the bathroom, any bathroom really, then the lucky git would have seen that stare reflected in the mirror. Lord Slytherin's monster is a basilisk."

_Got it._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Harry thought about going to a professor with the information. He thought about, at the very least, letting Snape know and understand the importance of their unraveled mystery, but he was curious,  _so insanely curious_  about the why. About the heir. About the Chamber.

So, he didn't. He kept the secret close to his heart while he attended tension filled classes. He watched the stressed faculty bumble through lesson plans. He heard the murmurs in the hall and practically tasted their cloying fear as he roamed the them without the distinct stench of nervous anxiety clinging to his skin. The Circle did the same, remained brave and secure in the knowledge that Harry could hear the monster before it arrived-and maybe, they felt somewhat shielded by their blood, since the monster had only attacked those of Muggle birth so far.

But, beyond the angry invasion of Aurors and Ministry officials and the intensity of their questioning, the initial excitement of Creevey's explosive reappearance began to taper. Children, particularly wizards and witches, found it difficult to maintain a reasonable healthy dosage of terror when there was a lapse of it. Only those who weren't used to the odd and eerie seemed hyper aware of their surroundings. Or, maybe that was just the Gryffindors, who scowled a little less at him and more at…

"Hello, Mr. Weasley."

Harry was surprised to see him out and about without the intensity of security-Ministry mandated-around his person. He'd become a shallow shell of himself, a pale figure with hunched shoulders and a weary gaze that lacked the vibrant personality he'd displayed only a year ago. It was strange and yet fitting to see him so… downtrodden. To know that he suffered. To see the results of exile and solitude done by one's own  _house._

Maybe, had Harry been surrounded by his usual collective, the Gryffindor redhead might have tried to remain proud and strong, but he alone for once, a strolling 'vulnerable' student who needed time to think and decide his next action without the dotting almost possessive aggression that constantly pulsed from his guardianship.

Not that he didn't enjoy it, of course.

"Harry," Ron whispered, the twisted shadows of desperation in his gaze, "I  _need_  you."

"Do you?" Harry whispered back, despite the fact that their hall was currently deserted, abandoned as students shuffled along toward dinner-hungry and oblivious to the schemes orchestrated around them.

"Yes," Ron said, but his tone was so drained. Almost empty.

"I needed you too, over the summer," Harry stated, but it was just a conversational note, "when my family turned on me."

Ron closed his eyes and exhaled long and slow, "I'm so sorry, Harry. No one told us you were missing. I thought about the letters, we tried to do the rescue, but Dumbledore said not to worry, that you were fine and we were overreacting. Then the article came out and he said…"

His voice trailed off, dissolved into a wistful sigh of disappointment. Disillusioned in himself. Disillusioned in the adults that had fed him a tale and crafted a paradise around him. Harry had been so  _interested_ in the crumbling destruction of Ron's self-worth that he nearly missed the sudden subject change.

"Sometimes, I wonder how we ended up together. First year?" He gave a strained smile, lost in some memory when he wasn't being watched all the time, wasn't a pariah, wasn't lonely or confused.

"Where are your guards," Harry said instead.

"Busy. Fred's got them up on the fourth-floor, slipping on goop and getting stuck. Something like taffy-"

"-Then let us talk freely," now Harry smiled, something pleased and wicked, "Where have you been, Ron?'

The usage of his first name seemed to startle him. He drew his shoulders back and took a quick nervous breath, "T-the Common Room, they don't let me go anywhere else."

"And what did you discuss with Dumbledore? After they found Mr. Creevey?"

Ron grimaced, "He just asked me what I'd been doing the night before his disappearance. Asked me why I threatened him the way I did but, but Harry I'd do it again. The grease ball said some dreadful things about you and those… um." Here Ron swallowed, "T-the lovely Slytherin ladies in your company."

Impressive.

"And, well, girls are insufferable and all and Hermione can be a real bossy bore sometimes, but Mum always says a gentleman doesn't call a lady the sorts of things Creevey was callin' 'em. Slytherins or not."

He seemed a bit confused for a moment, surprised by his own words perhaps, "Harry, all my life I've been taught that they can't be trusted. That they are sneaky and all but, well,  _you_  are a Slytherin and Malfoy is  _horrible_ but you…"

They were both silent for a moment, Harry contemplative, Ron stumbling over his words.

"But you… Harry, Longbottom told me the other day that I'm the last son of a fallen house and I was  _pissed_  but he isn't wrong. After I cooled my head he explained to me that… that you were a pretty, um, famous bloke. While I've always known that… that you were The-Boy-Who-Lived and all, I never really understood."

Ron shifted a piece of hair behind his head, perhaps expecting Harry to cut him off or walk away, but he was terribly curious and the best way to get a fellow speaking again was to remain silent and inquisitive. So, he did.

And that was enough to get him to speak some more, his posture, his body, his very  _magic_ suddenly  _alive,_  "And Harry, Longbottom told me that it was unusual for us to be friends considering our conflicting social status, but we are…  _were_  friends and I've always appreciated that. That you, you know, this heir to the hero Potters, was my friend and… when you have so much-"

He shrugged, words dying in a tight throat, before he croaked out, "and I've been jealous. Was jealous, a bit. You're special, and I'm  _me._  And now, now you're with Malfoy and Nott…"

He shrugged again, his energy wasted, "I'm not stupid. They think I am. My brothers. And… maybe Hermione too, but I'm not, Harry. I can see that things are different. That you're different, and it's made you  _better_."

"Being without me made you  _better_ ," he whispered, and though his voice was soft Harry  _heard_ him just as well, "how did we all end up in that carriage together? Why is Dumbledore pushing so hard for us to stay your friend?"

Slowly Ron lowered his gaze to the floor and Harry opened his mouth to speak, but when his company lifted his gaze again it was  _fierce_  a thing of blazing heat, of  _fire_ , of  _anger_  that burned and burned and  _burned_ , "Why are you so vibrant now, when in first year you weren't? I thought it was the Muggles, their abuse and all that but it's so much more I think."

He held his breath as Harry drawled, "And what is it, Ron? What do you think… tell me."

_Feed me your ire._

His eyelids fluttered, and he took a deep breath, swayed by Harry's unspoken command, by the pull of his magic, by the sudden overwhelming sense of  _connecting_  when he'd been so  _empty_  and rattled for the bulk of the year, "I have been thinking  _so hard_ about it. Us three. Hermione said you were the center, you balanced us. Elevated us. Somehow."

He shook his head furiously, tried to gather his thoughts, "I'm not sure I completely understand it. It's like you're a piece on a chess board, meant to be surrounded. Mum seemed happy when I wrote home about you. The Headmaster, she said, told her that our family would be good for you, that you might miss your mum and dad and need a bit of guidance, a brother to tell him the right things, to keep him safe. But I was nobody compared to you so why was he so interested in my friendships?"

Why indeed.

"Maybe the  _why_  is that it was  _because_ of you. We were put together for a reason, I said so many things, judgmental 'n stuff but that was junk I'd always heard mum and dad say and I fed it to you."

Harry sucked in a harsh breath, felt his heart rattle behind his ribs. He ignored the ache and tried to focus, tried to keep his magic that pounding lure instead of a reflection of his  _excitement_. Such knowledge… and he had always  _wondered_ -

"Every meeting with him," Ron ground out between clenched teeth, "he just talked about you. Never about me, my problems, because I was… I  _am_  nobody."

Then a scream, an echo that rattled down from the hall, a shattering audio presence that made Ron snarl and Harry suck in a rapid breath-and his magic. He twisted around on the heels of his feet, gaze somewhat manic, hair wild, only to stop when he felt Ron suddenly grip his wrist.

_Hard._

Harry whipped his head back around, a spell on the tip of his tongue, viciousness set to reflect in his gaze but Ron's own was  _blazing_  and he uttered-

"I am not  _stupid_ , Harry. I am not Dumbeldore's. I am nothing and I want to be  _something._ "

_I want to be yours._

"I have  _seen you_ ," magic curled along Ron's arm, flowed down, tentative and untrained as his face twisted into something strained, as he focused, as he  _tried_  to match the pure raw ability that Harry effortlessly wielded. As he tried to show him genuinely, and prove potential. "And I will not abandon you."

His eyes flickered in fear, a brief dosing of the flames that rolled through his gaze with the wildness of storms. He gasped once, then twice, as the thundering of feet drew closer and Harry's magic  _snapped_ out with cruel grip and perverse intentions to snag onto Ron's own. Harry's expression was pinched, nose wrinkled in his grotesque annoyance at the  _touch_  of another that had not been given permission to do so, but he was listening.

And that was what Ron  _needed._

"I know what you've done. With Longbottom. With Malfoy. With Parkinson and Zabini and the others-I am not unaware of my fallen houses traditions, I am not ignorant of my Mum's sighs when she eyes our squalor or the students when they talk about our stolen prestige."

Harry's chest felt tight, his gaze narrowed. He was trapped between wanting to tear his arm away from Ron and  _remain_ , caught constricted by the sentimental memories of friendship and urged by the  _harsh rolling possessiveness_ that Ron practically oozed and his magic returned almost tenfold. The need to conquer rolled like rocks in his gut, rattling like a haunting mantra across his mentality.

"Please," Ron croaked, his grip growing ever tighter, his breath coming out in a wheeze, his face so pale his freckles stood out against his trembling cheeks, "Save me from this—"

His voice cut out as the sound of adult authority began to crawl around the corner, and suddenly, Ron begged—

"My Lord."

Harry's movement was swift just as two Aurors tumbled into the hall, sweat slick and covered in  _guck._  Their wands were out and aimed at them just as a professor-Flitwick-and two more Aurors rounded the corner. All attention had instantly zeroed in on them, on Ron, as Harry wrapped him up tight in his arms.

"Stop!" Harry said, his voice high-pitched and fearful,  _innocent and oh so pure_ , "W-we were just talking. Please! He was with me when we… was someone screaming? We-"

The professor came closer, he looked frazzled and unsure but, "Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes?" Ron croaked against his neck, face hidden by the bulk of Harry's hair.

"Is there a reason your assigned guards are…" Flitwick looked a bit disgusted at the appearance of the shuffling Aurors, who looked a bit red in the face. Angry and humiliated no doubt since their colleagues were trying to hold in their snickering.

"I... I dunno, I just… I had to find Harry so we could talk." He mumbled again, words muffled as his lips brushed against Harry's robes. "I thought that maybe, maybe they had left to give me some privacy. I've been asking… begging for  _days_  now."

It was a poor lie mixed with what Harry assumed was a bit of truth, but it worked well enough. Flitwick shook his head and whispered to the two men at his back, "I don't think it could have… well, no one was petrified, or dead thank goodness, not this time so… just words on the wall, spooked a kid. Could have been a prank, cruel but effective."

Harry absorbed the statement as he held Ron tighter. Ron who trembled in his arms. Ron who dribbled moisture onto the exposed flesh of his neck and wheezed.

Ron, whose magic sung with  _joy_  as he sobbed against him, finally no longer alone in a world where he was claimed to be the Heir of Slytherin.

And Harry, whose wild smile of triumph and possession went unnoticed in the darkness of the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for following the journey so far  
> chapter six is completed and will be uploaded in a few days however--  
> if you are interested in seeing the chapter early, please follow my twitter or tumblr (links on my home page) to find out how to do so.


	6. stolen surprises

"Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. How cute."

There was a grunt to his left and a nervous sigh to his right and he adjusted just slightly to make sure the Cloak of Invisibility remained over himself and his companions.

"Is there a reason we're just sitting here? We already know-"

"Draco," Harry's voice was cold but amused, "relax and listen. The meeting is interesting, isn't it?"

There was a slight gulp next to him, but he ignored it and nuzzled a bit closer to the warmth caged on either side of him. It was a bit chilly in the hallway after all and they had to make sure they were nice and cozy in their nook of darkness, lest anyone emerge from the staff room before them.

"And what do you think, Ron?"

The boy jerked slightly before he cleared his throat, all eagerness and nervous energy, "It is important to listen in on this sort of stuff."

Draco snorted.

Ron shifted a bit uncomfortably.

If Harry had known he'd end up sharing the cramped space of his cloak with not one, but two of his  _friends_ , he might have decided to remain in the Slytherin dungeons, instead of crouched and cramping with two competitive energies buzzing at his side.

"Why is he here?"

Harry could imagine Draco's indignant pout, "he's to be one of our friends, of course, and he's worried."

"About the mud-erk, Muggleborn, yes but he can worry in his Common Room can't he?"

Harry gave a tilt of his head, but Ron spoke before he could formulate a response.

"If there's been another attack I'm worried that the staff doesn't care. I mean... " He shrugged, an act that raised and lowered his shoulder against Harry's own, "I don't want her to get hurt, is all. It could be her next."

There was an awkward sigh before Ron's voice came again, "S-so thank you for… for allowing me to be here, Harry, Malfoy."

Harry chuckled a bit, pleased that Ron had included Draco in the thanks, knowing that the boy had been very displeased when Harry had given him the details of their little… mission. Besides, it must have been horrible in the Common Room once the words had been discovered and Ron hadn't been in the dining hall when they'd discovered the newest act of maliciousness by the heir. Let no one think he wasn't a gracious lord.

Draco made a sound of indifference, but Harry could tell he was pleased either way, and soon they returned to silence to hear more of what was said beyond the space. The unwarded space.

A mistake, that.

"And the headcount? The Aurors have Dumbledore practically locked in his office. If we don't take care of this nobody else will."

"Just be glad there isn't another body," A familiar voice drawled-Snape, "I'm sure Dumbledore's heart wouldn't be able to take it."

"Mind yourself," accented and heavy, tired-McGonagall, no doubt, "give me your count."

Straight to business, that one, though she was probably done with the nonsense and the lack of progress.

"All my students were accounted for, and yours?"

"Every one," Flitwick responded.

"Same," Sprout sighed.

"And yet," Snape said, "I believe one of our students-of-interest was caught out and about during the scream?"

"Out and about," McGonagall mocked, and there was a sound then, the clicking of glass, "I suppose that Mr. Weasley was, in fact, out and about. With Mr. Potter, no less. So, if we're going to point fingers-"

Flitwick hissed, "Not this again.  _Not this again._ "

"I am only stating the facts the Aurors were concerned about," Snape defended, but his tone was more apathetic than pushing. "Mr. Potter being there or not aside since we all know it certainly couldn't have been  _him._ "

And the bulk of them barely knew about or paid much mind to the ring on his hand, what with the careful approach they'd taken to him all year.

"I just don't think the boy is capable," a new tone interrupted,  _suspiciously_ happy, "He's a Weasley after all, and his grades are-"

Another clink of glass while Ron stiffened and growled low in his throat beside him.

"Ah yes, well thank you for that genius observation, Gilderoy. What other statements would you like to add to this meeting?"

"W-well I, I don't mean to be… ah, rude-"

"The competence or lack of competence of a student is not currently up for discussion." Snape snapped, "We are not here to speculate. That is not our job. Our job is to protect-"

"And I  _am_  protecting, Severus. Just like in my book, The Haunted Horse-"

There's a choking sound then, like someone swallowed something wrong, before the voices start again, vicious… harsh. It's a bit surprising to hear it from McGonagall-

"Oh! Oh! Yes. One of your books. Heroes of all Heroes, or some such. And yet, here we are, with petrified students-"

"Minerva," Snape said, a false mocking gasp in his tone and a lack of care in the address, "we mustn't expect Lockhart to actually care about  _this_ little mystery. It's hardly as grand as any adventure in his books."

There's some sputtering behind the door and a cruel chuckle from Ron-and surprisingly, a happy little sound from Draco.

"The point of the matter is," Flitwick interjected, "that we have a student missing."

Now Harry shifted, hungry for information.

"And they're talking about closing Hogwarts down as soon as tomorrow."

He stood up so abruptly that the boys at his side were exposed and visible for several painful seconds. Draco swallowed a yelp and Ron nearly fell over in his crouch trying to stand so quickly, but he knew that they were both as invested as he was in hearing  _more_  and maybe,  _maybe,_  it was time to hand over his own information…

"Without even looking for her?" Sprout seemed horrified.

"You have a Weasley down there, not a Greengrass or a Bones. I'm not sure how much the powers-that-are care."

Beside him Ron had gone so  _terribly_  still. He trembled, his breath quickened, and Harry had to reach out a hand to grip the back of his neck  _harshly_  to keep him from stumbling from under the cloak in a blind rage.

What  _delicious_ anger that was, barely contained in his flexing body, held only in place by the suffocating curl of Harry's will… but it was so inconvenient.

So much so that he missed the end of whatever it was Snape was trying to say, but he certainly heard the outrage of the teachers before a literal  _snarl_  echoed in from beyond the door-

" **Fix. It. Mister. Hero.** "

Silence. Dead and sudden. It was so thick and potent that even Harry held his breath and Ron came to himself, still held so completely in his grip. He had only ever heard  _one_  adult speak like that in his lifetime, one  _god_  command such instant quiet and he was surprised that she was able to emulate that sort of authority so completely.

On the other side of the door he heard a soft whimper and then a stuttered, "Y-you can't be serious?"

Magic pulsed like a heady perfume beyond the door, a taste of bestiality and the heavy weight of experience. She spoke again, though her tone was a little softer, exhausted but righteous.

"Go."

And the door began to open.

Harry was quick in releasing Ron and tightening the cloak around them. Almost instinctively they pressed back against the wall, breath held as Lockhart slipped from the staff room with drawn in shoulders and a forlorn expression. He shuffled awkwardly and quickly down the hall in the direction of what Harry assumed was his office and wordlessly Harry and his company began to follow. It seemed only logical that if the great hero and explorer was going out to hunt a monster that such information should go to him to assist in the task.

What he had not expected was a bit of a show.

"H-harry!" Lockhart crowed, his normal tone of false sincerity a bit shaken. But, maybe that was due to the fact he'd been caught with a fistful of files in his grip and an open half-packed suitcase on his desk. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Draco carefully but quickly began to fold the cloak, well trained in handling it with all the delicacy of someone who might be flayed alive if they didn't. It gave Harry enough time to put all his attention upon the man, who continued to haphazardly throw things into his expanded trunk.

"What are you doing?" The words were stated with all the curiosity he could muster while his chest grew tight with the sign of… displeasure. Beside him he could feel Ron take a deep breath and hold it, the pieces of the puzzle already fitting together easily for him. After all, the room was half empty, divested of all Lockhart's personal effects.

He was running. Running from his responsibility of the student body, the order of the Deputy-Head, and the task he'd been given.

Ah,  _another_ incompetent power put in place to keep them weak, though he had long suspected such due to the mediocre and less than effective teaching of his class.

Slowly Lockhart stood straighter, no longer hunched and desperately trying to stuff his belongings into his trunk. For a long time, he merely stared at him, before with a wordless wave of his wand he pushed out his magic, flicking it toward the door and causing it to shut with a  _click_ of finality.

Immediately Draco and Ron drew their wands, a healthy dose of instinct for  _danger_ humming through them. As one they stepped forward, not blocking Harry's path of fire-a good idea, should he need to retaliate-but making sure that they became the first line of defense.

Lockhart chuckled slightly, amused by their placement no doubt, but his gaze was all for Harry, "Allow me to be honest?"

Harry nodded and gave a boyish shrug, "Aren't you always?"

To that Lockhart waved his wand, causing a few books to fly off the nearby shelves and park themselves neatly on the desk beside him. They were  _his_  books, all titles of his outlandish tales of daring.

All lies.

"I'm an ordinary fellow," he said, tone somewhat conspiratorial, "horribly ordinary. You see, these books of mine are a bit embellished."

"Oh?" Harry said, his gaze wide, keeping up the facade of the bewildered and curious.

"It's just that," he laughed then, a hand set to rub the back of his head, "I didn't do anything in them. Someone else did the hero work and, well, I charmed them to forget it. Memory manipulation is my affinity, brilliant at it but not much else. Still, it's much easier to become  _somebody,_ while riding on the back of a nobody, isn't it?"

His grin thereafter was a bit sly, a bit  _mean_ , "You're a Slytherin, aren't you Harry? I know you get it."

They were silent in return, Ron with a flushed face and a lip held between his teeth so tightly it bled and Draco with his face twisted into a patent sneer. It was Ron who broke the quiet first, screeching-

"They left my sister to you?! You?! And you're running? Instead of just saying-"

Lockhart cringed slightly, and Harry flicked his wrist to remove his wand from its holster while Ron continued to rant.

"Horrid, just horrid! Is it because she's a Weasley that you're choosing to run or would you have abandoned  _anyone_? You haven't tried all year to find the culprit, have you? And poor Hagrid was snatched away on  _your word!"_

Ah, of course. If Lockhart had claimed to find the true heir, then naturally the naive and foolish might believe him. Maybe that was why McGonagall had been so harsh. It was difficult to swallow the loss of staff for an issue that had never been solved.

"And… and you told them-" Here Ron had to pause to catch his breath, "-you told them to keep an eye on me, and I couldn't even  _piss_ alone! I'd been trying so hard to convince them it  _wasn't me_ and you kept throwing out hints and-"

Fury choked him. His shoulders shook. His gaze was beast-like, and had it not been for Draco's gasp and sudden yell of the disarming charm, he might have missed Lockhart's attempt to compromise them.

That did  _not_  sit well with Harry.

And he was incredibly grateful then, for the locked door and the silencing ward as Lockhart gave a yelp and his wand flew into Draco's waiting grasp.

Harry lifted his hands and gave a bit of a dry clap, "Good show, I suppose."

He let his tone dip, destroyed the falsified persona of the naive and betrayed boy to instead display the chilling curiosity beneath that, almost clinical with inspection, "You've stolen lives to feed your own. Admirable, in a way, to steal their accomplishments."

Ron gave a sharp gasp, but didn't move, didn't dare turn his gaze from Lockhart, even as Harry rocked back and forth on his heels and began to  _drip_ his essence, the magic that came to his call and curled possessively over his collection-and he took a private moment to watch Ron react, to notice how he shuddered, how he tried to repress a grin when he  _tasted_ Harry's power and  _intention_.

But for Lockhart he allowed his magic to press forward, to make the man swallow with furrowed brows and grimace in a display of perfect teeth, "So… you do understand?"

"I understand that you're a bit of a coward-"

"-Now there's no need for-"

"-I prefer to steal lives in another manner. More of a blood and bone sort, instead of a memory sort."

Lockhart stepped around his desk, moving forward one slow step after the other, pale but still so very confident even as Harry leveled the pressure of his empty focus upon him.

"I took this role to find an adventure," he began.

"One is here," Harry said.

The sound of a  _snap_  seemed painfully loud in the space as Draco cracked Lockhart's wand over his knee, a move that had the professor whip his head toward him in surprise and fury-

A fury Ron still ebbed with as he lifted his wand to remind Lockhart that he was there and still very pissed.

"Is it that you cannot steal the credit for a mystery that hasn't been solved?" Harry tapped his chin. "I could help you solve it."

He turned his scowl from Draco to Harry, his voice strained with budding loathing, "Oh really? And how do you suspect to do that?"

"Well," Harry ignored his irritation, it was understandable, considering Draco was pocketing the broken halves of his wand and all, "It's a basilisk. That's what's doing it. Attacking the students. You... do you know what one is, don't you?"

For a moment Lockhart lost his ire and his gaze combed the room for a moment in thought, "A bloody basilisk? And how long has  _that_ been here?"

"A good question," Harry drawled, "but the better one is what do we do about it?"

"We?" Lockhart laughed bitterly, " _We_  will be doing nothing together, boy. What with my lack of wand and all-"

"But that's where you're wrong," Harry chirped, suddenly chipper, "you have one more story to star in. A real one."

Here Ron lowered his head and swallowed nervously while Draco looked at them both with unveiled curiosity.

"My Lord?" He said, uncaring of Lockhart's sudden wild expression of budding disbelief as he said it.

Harry ignored his questioning expression and Lockhart's sputtering to instead place the brilliant green of his gaze upon Ron. Ron, who lifted his head slowly and allowed the haunted darkness of his blue eyes to clear into a whirlwind of determination. His wand, held tight in his fist, pointed toward the professor-

"You know what I want," Harry said, a bit of boyish mischief in his voice, "and friends,  _good friends_ , bond well over a bit of adventure."

Ron's grip trembled, he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and Lockhart opened his mouth to speak-

Right before Harry flicked his wand and his mouth slammed shut, sealed as the flesh around his lips broke apart and twisted into strips that knitted themselves-painfully if Lockhart's screams were any indication-together in a patchwork pattern moistened with blood.

He fell to his knees, hands over his mouth, but Harry never wavered in his focus, in the attention  _Ron_ had earned from him. In the attention he hoped Ron intended to keep.

Draco muttered something unintelligible beside him, but he paid him no mind. Instead he watched his reacquired friend, saw the flicker of  _greed_ swim among the lighter blues. Saw that blue then darker and shift with admiration, curiosity, and desire for  _more_. For  _power_.

His hand steadied.

"Ronald Weasley, of the Fallen House of Weasley. It is still Ancient. Even if it is no longer Noble. So, I know, in the depths of that home, wherever it is, your mother and father keep a book."

For a moment Harry closed his eyes and relished in the  _beauty_  of the moment. He hummed to himself, drew fingertips across his belly in a  _tap tap tap_  motion of thought and when he reopened them he noticed that Ron's gaze had hardened.

Determined.

He  _understood_.

"It is a book that I was obligated to read at the Malfoys. A book that all good wizarding families of standing, once or otherwise, have their sons and daughters at least glance over. It is a book of our most ancient magic, raw and potent and forbidden, of olde ways and lost tradition done away by those who mean to use us as tools to build their empires."

Ron closed his eyes and hissed, lips turned down in a hard frown.

"I know you have read this book, Ronald, but you have yet to honor it."

Lockhart's harsh breathing filled the silence Harry left behind, but he was stumbling to his feet and his magic was weakening. Soon the wards would break, the privacy of their space would end…

But not his corruption.

"And so, I must know, Ronald, if you are a tool used to build their empire, where your back is fit to be burdened and stepped upon, or a  _wizard_  ready for purpose and worth."

When Ron reopened his eyes, his hand was already going through the motion, even as Lockhart tried to lunge forward to stop the spell that was cast almost  _perfectly_ from Ron's wand. Harry made sure to give him a little  _help_ , after all, it was unfair to think that Ron's first try would be flawless, and it was the  _thought_ and the heady pulse of Ron's intent that mattered.

Harry could have practically purred when Ron said, without a single doubt in his tone, his excited- " _Imperio_."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Once he had a taste of it, he hadn't been able to stop. The raw pure ability to control, to manipulate, to be one with their most ancient magics and darkest intents… It had driven something in him, an obsessive need to be  _perfect_ , to know every single bit of power that had been denied him so that when his Lord returned to him he would be of immediate use.

He could tell just by how  _vibrant_  Ron was that he felt the same, that the use of that  _forbidden_  spell had ignited his inner fire in a way mundane magics and charms would never be able to accomplish. Obsessive need swam thickly through his veins. The poison of dark magic, of potent magic, slithered throughout his core. That was the danger about dark magic, it felt… rather lovely to use, to feel the hum of reality's will bending to accomplish the near impossible in a way that connected one so much closer to godhood, to wilderness, to the ether and the screaming leylines that ran beneath their walking feet.

"Again," Ron garbled, and Draco sighed before them, his  _lumos_  steady as he lit up the way in the tunnels they had just entered, after following a trail of leaking water into the haunted bathroom, with a clever bit of Harry's snake-tongue.

"Again?" Harry repeated, lightheartedly, knowing that once this debacle was over Ron's summer would be filled with a new sort of exploration. "Draco, if you would?"

The Malfoy Heir grunted, "One more time, I'd like to get to bed at some point, my Lord."

And he was right, it was  _very_  late, wasn't it?

So, Harry twisted around on the balls of his feet and gave a wordless flick of his wand, freeing Lockhart from Ron's  _imperio_  with a metaphysical snap.

And immediately the man was screaming, his mouth freed from Harry's earlier spell, his lips in nasty tatters with crusted crimson patched upon his chin. Sweat-slick and bewildered, he stumbled and fell on his arse, but all to soon he was trying to scramble backwards and run.

With his tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth, Ron pointed his wand and whispered the spell again, shuddering when the magic burst from his body to strike the man. He slouched and collapsed onto the floor only to twitch as Ron narrowed his eyes in focus and pouted.

"Still not good enough... to maintain on my own." Ron croaked.

"We'll practice it, I promise." Harry said, sparing a bit of time to pat Ron on the shoulder even as Lockhart began to writhe like a worm, fighting against Ron's untrained bit of control magic. "I want to take over from here anyway."

He could hear the hissing nearby, the nondescript sounds and grunts that were almost  _words_.

"What?" Ron blinked, magic drunk.

"I need you and Draco," Harry was quick to add, just in case the boy had a smug look behind him, "to stay here and watch the entrance to the tunnels. I need to speak with the Big Scary Snake. Best do that alone, where you two can't be harmed."

"But we won't be," Draco said, his expression a look of intense concern. Endearing, but not enough to move him, "We're purebloods-"

"And invaders." Harry interrupted. "But worry not, I will have a shield of meat and bone to protect me, if the snake should be unwilling to accommodate my presence…"

Draco looked entirely unconvinced and Harry could see doubt and a sense of duty infect his gaze as he approached. His invasion of Draco's personal space was noted but the boy hardly backed down from him, standing strong in his presence, "You are my Lord and your orders are begrudgingly noted, but I don't want you to get…"

He cast a nervous gaze to Ron and left the statement unanswered, but Harry knew and he understood what couldn't be said.

"You forget who I am, Draco." Harry whispered, only to lift a hand and tug playfully on one of his ears, "I am  _His_ , and truly, I am the heir, even if someone else is claiming to be such."

Draco dropped his gaze down to the twisted ring about his finger, the one that seemed so unremarkable until one focused long and hard upon it, before he stepped back, making room for Harry and the twitching meat-sack waddling over as Ron moved him with renewed focus and concentration.

"I am fond of him after all," Harry said, as he lifted his wand in preparation to take over the spell, "I won't be long. Watch over him, brother."

Draco brought a fist over his chest and pressed it against his collar, a wizard's salute, "Your interests are my interests, Harry. We'll make a decent wizard of him yet."

Harry smiled, something soft and kind and  _real_  before he flicked his wand and took control of the spell over Lockhart. Instantly his movements smoothed out and he looked more natural. He even gave a dazzling smile before he walked past Harry, uttering a-

"Are you ready for an adventure, Harry?" Through blood crusted lips.

To which Harry replied, "Absolutely, Professor Lockhart." in his boyishly innocent tone.

And as he walked away, he felt something odd swell in his chest, something… strong and unwavering and Draco said, to his back-

"Be safe, brother."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The entrance into what Harry assumed was the Chamber was massive in structure, a daunting carving of tangled snakes, eating each other-always eating, forever hungry-and embedded with sparkling gems and flickering lines of spider web light. Each snake pulsed with an otherworldliness that seemed  _animated_  in a haunting manner. It might have been the tendril like cracks in the stone, the source of the light that pierced the surrounding darkness with a kaleidoscope of colors. Or, it could have been the way those snakes watched him, with rolling jewel eyes that reflected his image back upon himself thousands upon thousands of times. Had he been a lesser boy, a more fearful boy, he might have turned away, burdened by that gaze and the sense of being watched and evaluated.

But, he was not a lesser boy, and his bravery-now trained and tapered-remained despite his house reassessment.

Still, he hesitated before the massive stonework, stare somewhat wide and trembling with a bubbling rolling emotion that struck him so  _completely_ he felt nearly  _destroyed_  by the rawness of it.

There it was again, the heavy  _thump thump thump_  of power, of  _presence_ , of eagerness mixed with a strange dab of  _terror_. Of absolute  _joy_ , a budding excitement that set his own heart to running rampant and made his chest feel tight as he was so suddenly swept away in it. How hypnotic, how commanding, just that single taste of something  _more_  that reminded him so painfully of  **Him** and  _himself_  and…

With a sharp wheezing breath Harry glanced to the man at his side, to the professor held under his sway and almost oblivious to the sweep of magic that called to him beyond the stone. How horrifically mundane he must be, even if he was held in the firm grasp of Harry's will. How terribly plain and  _horrid_  to be so ignorant of…

No, no, something was… wrong.

One breath, then another, and the longing that had infected his very essence began to recede, bringing to him startling clarity and a wall to push back the emotion that had reached him. It stirred up memories of the moment Creevey fell from the very sky above Gryffindor table. Where he had once felt this very same  _flavor_  lick across his flesh with fanatical reverence. He needed to know more and scarcely hesitated to flex his magic tentatively toward the space before him. He lifted a hand to brush against a hissing stone-snake and push against the presence that seemed to ooze from the walls and slip past the entrance, aware that such an action might pull him back into the whirlwind of feelings that dwelled there.

That fact, in and of itself, was enough to bode investigation.

" _My Lord?_ " He whispered, throat tight and breath held, hoping that the magic beyond him would answer…

And it did, curious, weary, no longer drowning in whatever pleasure it had once indulged before. Now, whatever held that magic, was bewildered…

With an undercurrent of longing that matched his own.

He ignored the way the stone-snakes looked at him. He ignored the twitch of his flesh-puppet professor as he pressed against the wall and took a deep breath. He focused instead on his thoughts, on the way his skin itched, on the sudden harsh burn of his scar that made him dizzy with another influx of sudden understanding.

It was him and it wasn't him, beyond the stone.

It was  **Him** and it wasn't  **Him** , beyond the stone.

So, what was it? What was this thing that felt like power, and darkness, and intensity?

" _Open_ ," Harry hissed. He intended to find out.

He stepped back quickly as the structure began to rumble, as it shifted with a grace and flair that only magic could manage. The flesh-puppet groaned for a moment before he began to clap with false impress, prompted by Harry's orders to obey but act his normally pompous self.

"Good show, Harry! What a wonderful usage of such a normally dark magic!"

Harry didn't respond. It was useless. His playful performance at the expense of the man and for a construction of carefully crafted memories was worthless as the magic that had met him outside of the wall swept toward him with a sickening  _possessiveness._  He clutched his chest, as if the act would ease the rapid thud of his heart or help him contain the smile that split his lips. He'd never felt something as… hungry as himself react in such a manner. Had never felt so totally swaddled with the intent to  _take_  and desperately hoard.

Whatever was in here was happy to feel him, to  _find_  him. It was as if Harry's soul had been fractured but was now able to… to join, to be complete. It was the part of him that was  **Him**  responding so powerfully, and it drove Harry forward with a sudden sense of urgency. Whatever was within this slick-walled space, was  _his_  now.

Monster of Slytherin be damned.

With a jolly hum Lockhart followed him, and as one unit they crept along the dark space that seemed to be illuminated only by the flickering lantern light around them, green flames that burst into existence as soon as Harry's presence swept past the old and rusted iron structures. Water surrounded them, glistening black and deep on either side of the long grand hall they traversed while several snake-like structures of stone slithered and twisted above, following him, always following him.

Or maybe, they reacted to the warm heavy presence of the heir ring upon his hand, which pulsed-alive and twisting-upon his finger.

"I'm home," he purred, enjoying the echoing tone of his voice as it bounced off what seemed like an endless stretch of hallway, "home to blood. Home to magic. Home, home, home-"

He could have burst out in song from the feeling of  _rightness_ that hummed in his blood, had it not been for the sudden illumination of the hallway end, which hosted a massive statue of the grand Lord himself and…

"Ginerva?"

Her body was still, not so much as a tic as he approached with caution and wand out. It wasn't that he hadn't expected her there, after all the heir had warned of such on the castle walls, but whatever had brought her there still had to be out and about, didn't it?

But there was a definite lack of presence, other than the persistent weight of magic that still pulled at his very core.

"Professor. The girl."

Lockhart moved immediately, the gleam of personality that had once been in his gaze now snuffed by the presence of a true order. He went to his knees and examined the girl, tilted her head this way and that and presumably made sure the girl was breathing and functional.

"Breathing," Lockhart said, "magic feels weak, but she is alive."

Harry gave a slow nod before the sound of oxfords on stone reached sensitive straining ears.

"Not for long though, I suspect. Yet, I'll be the first to admit that I'm very impressed with her ability to remain stable for so long. I was under the impression that she'd pass much faster but maybe the Weasley house does breed for power, if not for political stability."

His nostrils flared, his eyes widened, but his massive smile never lessened.

"I'm inclined to agree, actually," he practically purred as the owner of the voice stepped forward, magic beating warmly against his skin, welcomed against his own like an  _old friend._ "A spot-on assessment, Hermione."

Her smile was  _brilliant_ , one that explained so very much even though, so little was said. She was a bit frazzled, her robes wrinkled, her hair wild. Her smile seemed strained but genuine, filled with the pleasure gained by his idle praise and presence. Her magic was a heated pulse. She was fire, burning and burning and burning as she stood with arms around a peculiar black faced notebook and wand tucked behind an ear. But it was her gaze that drew his attention. It was the way shadows swam there, twisting milky brown into violent storms of black for the left-

While her right eye was completely  _red,_ animalistic and glowing in the flickering lantern light, expressing a frenzied power that was barely contained in her flesh.

He knew,  _knew_ , that his own gaze must have reflected the same, wild green with flecks of fire to match the one red eye she held and the dark shadows that twisted through her brown. She was so… saturated with magic. How had she hidden this from him? This pulsing line that connected them? The power that felt like his Lord and her own?

"What have you been up to, Hermione?"

Because, it seemed rather important to find out.

"I've been…" She paused for a moment, brow furrowed, gaze distant. She slipped out of focus, fingertips stroking the binding of the book in her grasp, before she seemed to return to herself. "Working. For you. For us."

She licked her lips nervously before she stepped forward, the snake structures above them watching her movements, hissing, before she twisted her head to the left wall and snapped out a hissed—" _Silence!"_

That.  _That_  was interesting.

If she noticed his arched brow and surprised expression she said nothing, instead she looked at the girl, Ginerva, nose wrinkled, "This world is filthy…"

He held his breath.

"It's filled with the weak and licentious. They wander our halls, strutting like proud turkeys, ripe and fit to burst... "

She shook her head suddenly, violently, and he kept a careful cautious look as her expression twisted into something grotesque.

"Nothing is different. Nothing has changed. Here. There." She waved a hand in a wild flailing motion, exasperated, and Harry could see the bags that dwelled under those magic infused eyes, "They  _hated_ me there, the realm of the Muggles. They made fun of my magic, thought I was unwell, mad. Therapy, years and years, from age nine to eleven when that blasted letter came for me, to me…"

She swallowed and rolled her shoulders, collected herself, "And when I came here it was more of the same. Less therapy, of course. More oppression. More inconsideration. And I? I, the ever hopeful and insufferable swot. Untrained and ignorant."

She chuckled, "And then you, Harry. You, The Boy, abused by his own blood-the Headmaster was so upset about that, claimed you'd been enchanted by a pureblood lifestyle and all. Said you were suffering, and I…"

She trailed off, perhaps realized she was rambling before she tittered a bit, "I watched, for a time. Confused. They talked about you, the other lions, with varying degrees of disrespect and envy. They didn't really believe it, that Muggles could hurt you the way they did. Thought you were milking it a bit—you see, they felt very betrayed by you, for a time-but Ronald was… insistent. He claimed I would do nothing but sit, listen, and complain. That I'd given up on you."

She smiled something  _wicked_ , the gleam of red in her eye a twisting spiral of gained knowledge, of things she didn't yet  _understand_ , but would with time. "I never gave up on you, though. I just needed some  _time._ "

"The book," now she dropped her gaze to the black bound object in her grip, "was held by Ginerva. I'm not sure for how long. When we bumped into the hall and all her things spilled… Well, I was unable to get it back to her and I held onto it for a bit. But that…"

She closed her eyes, sighed deeply, and when she reopened them there was something  _else_  in that gaze too. Something feral, something that also screamed of magic… no,  _magick_  and  _wilde_.

"That was after the ritual."

Harry stepped forward, allowed his magic to meet her own, explored it and found the pulsing  _piece_ that said  **Lord** , the piece that seemed to be strangling the part that said Hermione, "Ritual?"

Her nostrils flared and she tilted her head, an act that seemed almost alien upon her, "Oh yes, there was a ritual. I was in the restricted section, you see, trying to find out more about the Chamber-"

While Hermione licked her lips, Harry looked back to the girl and Lockhart, one growing more and more pale, the other smiling dreamily.

"It was in a book about  _rightness_ , righteousness?" She tapped her chin for a moment, but soon continued, "A book about guidance, about giving someone the assistance to do what is  _right_ , governed by magic, ruled by…."

Another sigh as she frowned, as if she were listening to something Harry couldn't hear, and he figured she was, "Well, it was perfect, I thought. I could use some guidance. Everything was turning from worse to  _awful_ and I was so terribly scared. I thought that, with a little bit of guidance, I'd know how to... fix this." She made a motion between them, an indication about their strained friendship. "So, I did everything as I was supposed to. Potions and rituals are all about the perfect ingredients, but I think I made it too…"

There it was again, the glittering in the depths of her gaze, the  _otherness_ , "Potent."

"The ritual," Harry croaked, "what was it used for in the past?"

He had a good idea of it, of the  _darkness_ such a thing might have been heralded as.

"The blessing of children, for good fortune and the  _right_  choices. Pureblood godfathers gifting their godchildren their blood. So much blood."

She licked her lips, looked thoughtful, lost in memory, before she shrugged again, and this time Harry could see something else, bandages wrapped around her arms… hiding things he hadn't seen due to her long sleeves and overall reclusive behavior. It wasn't like he'd been in the library with her or-

Well, he'd have to ask Ron just how this happened under his nose.

"But I think I used too much blood," She frowned, "I thought that… well Malfoy is always saying how it's not  _thick_ enough. Strong enough. So I…" A sigh, "Well, it hardly matters now."

But it did, it really did. Such olde magic had often been used to give a young child an  _edge_  over a Muggleborn or halfblood whelp. It assisted in their acceleration, helped them make better decisions as governed by wilde magick… which was governed by immoral gods, dead, forgotten, and powerless to control it. The rules in place that once made a wizard blessing a safe and viable option had been destroyed, torn asunder as wizardkind forgot to pay their penance. That left only… only magicks. She was… she had become  _magic_ , wilde but not yet unhinged, but he wondered how much effort she was putting into maintaining her sanity, her form…

And whether he could devour some of her, all of her,  _keep-_

His eyes were drawn to the book, his mind back on track, "Tell me, Hermione. The spell? The ritual?"

"After that, the… ritual, I didn't think anything had happened and… well the book, I had wondered what it was. I could feel it, hear it… humming, singing…"

Because, it was just as much magic as she had been, filled to the brim with secrets she hadn't yet realized.

"And Ginerva hadn't asked for it back so I suspected I'd use it and what a grand surprise it became. I thought it was a teaching aid at first, Harry, but it became  _so much more._ "

Her tone was strained, as if she were trying to cover up some sort of fanatical emotion. He understood it all too well, knew it because he too had been on his knees, begging for salvation and promised power for his obedience.

But what had Hermione chained herself to? Who?  _Who?!_

He hissed, " _what was it? Whose was it_?"

"A Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle." She swayed for a moment, "It's… it's  **His**  name, you know. He told me, He told me so so  _much_."

"The Dark Lord's?"

" _Yesss_ ," She whispered, her snake tongue  _perfect, "_ It was us, you know. I wanted to… the cat, He did that one first with Ginerva, but we, we did so much more."

She bit her bottom lip before she spread her arms wide and began to approach his small group, the sleeves of her robe riding up just slightly to give sight to more bandages, so many, different colored and inscribed. Lockhart, instinctively, clutched the pale Ginerva-or maybe he was breaking through Harry's thrall, since the bulk of his attention was focused on the wild snapping of Hermione's magic and the grandness of her tale, "He taught me magic,  _real_  magic, and opened my eyes to the… the... "

There it was, a spike of terror, as if she were suddenly afraid of herself and what she'd done… but the shame never reached her face and soon even that eased out, soothed perhaps by… the magic that controlled her,  _possessed_  her.

"Did you like it? What I did to Justin? It was a shame, really, about Ronald being there when he was revealed but I tried to make sure that Creevey's exposure was…  _different_ , that all of Gryffindor could be involved for their wagging tongues. They'd been treating him so horridly lately…"

Harry quickly stepped around and over the body to meet her, to invade her personal space with his animated grin, "You did all that for me?"

Her eyes fluttered but she nodded, "Yes Harry."

He tried not to squeal with delight, with the fact that she had somehow bound herself so  _completely_ to him and somehow also to  _ **Him**_. "What else? Tell me, Hermione."

"He's in here… He's… with me."

Like how He was with him.

"He's always in my head, telling me things, helping me make the right choice and sometimes my magic just reacts, it does the thing I need to be done the most." Her voice was a bit low, thoughtful, "I am Him, I think. I am Tom, Tom-me."

And maybe that was the heavy magic that wrapped so tightly around her, mingled so  _well_  with the other magicks she'd called into herself unwittingly. She was a vassal, His vassal, and now-

Harry narrowed his eyes, grin suddenly vicious before he reached out a hand to wrap around her throat. She gasped as he squeezed just slightly, just enough to let her know where the  _power_  really was. Who he  _really_  was. She swallowed nervously but only stared at him in naked awe as his magic snaked around her,  _through_  her, and idly found the humming thread of power that suckled at Ginerva and fed her very life's essence into Hermione. Not the book, not the thing that he thought was controlling her.

No, the book was  _worthless_ now. Whatever magic, memories, or portion of his Lord's soul that had been within it was gone. It was now in Hermione, a part of her.

"What a greedy thing to do, Tom," Harry mumbled as Hermione squirmed a bit at being addressed, as the red gleam of her eye brightened for just a moment, "this mudblood is mine."

Hermione snarled, but otherwise did not attempt to escape his grasp, "I am His-"

"Tom," Harry said again, with a spirited shake of head, "how much of you…?"

" _Enough_ ," she hissed in snake-tongue, " _enough that I cannot tell where either of us begin."_

" _Then you are aware what I am? Who I am? I am Heir, His and Slytherin's. I am power. His soul and mine. "_

" _We are the same,_ " she said, a bit uncertain.

Harry rumbled, a deep chuckle laced with his indisputable dominance and self-crafted placement in the world he intended to serve at the Dark Lord's feet, " _We are not-_

_I am King, I am Lord, I am Him and so much more."_

Now he felt something  _else_  stir with her. Something older than  _Tom_ , something older than  _Him_ , something that seemed curious and mischievous and delighted. He reached out for that, wrapped himself around her  _otherness_  and felt her slouch in his grip. Submissive and yielding.

" _I am the stronger portion, the greater soul-"_

" _Yes,"_ she whispered weakly, " _but-"_

" _I am the last-born piece, but I will be King of all pieces, except for our Master, the grand piece. Do you deny it? Do you deny me this, by magic? By the righteousness of the wilde?"_

Now she sneered and growled, but it was too late. He felt her magic yield to him, forced by the very ritual that had damned her to be Tom's carriage, which was now his cage. She pouted, petulant, but he knew she was bemused, "You're so much more perceptive than you were, Harry. And… what do you mean, about soul pieces?"

He smiled now, a little softer and slowly released her throat to instead place his hand upon her shoulder. The shoulder of his friend who had always been too bossy and too smart for her own good. "I believe that Tom would give you a better education about it than I could."

But… before he could ask her more, ask her about the doorway she'd come in from and the inviting warmth of a crackling fire beyond that there was… something he needed to take care of.

"Ginerva, then."

"Irrelevant, but…" She struggled for a moment, "I don't want her to be hurt. Ronald cares for her, but to finalize what I've started, what we've started, I needed…"

"A soul exchange. Was it you, then, who killed the roosters?"

"The magic rode me much of that night. I knew I had to, Tom had mentioned as much—they would have hurt her, the basilisk, Harry-and I needed the blood and their life to assist with the unbinding of Tom's essence from the bound book-parchment to… flesh, but it wasn't enough. We… I'm so…  _hungry._ "

Yes, that made since. Carrying whatever it was that dwelled within her that felt too ancient to be commanded, and Tom, must have been exhausting for her magically. Her potential was explosive, but needed to be fed first. A life.

"Ginerva is a decent choice because she was owner of Tom's book first, is that it?"

"Her magic has been touched by our own. So, it's easier to pull from her, without spilling her blood. I didn't want to make a mess in Lord Slytherin's Chamber. I was… we were waiting for you, to present you your gifts. He knew something about you but wouldn't tell me. But I know now, I can feel it! Somehow, you and I are connected. By Him, through Him."

She huffed, a bit indignant and Harry tried not to laugh at the casual normalcy she expressed, even while she sunk into the depths of olde and dark magic.

"Once we have the life the merge will be complete. I will be me but I will also be Him… Tom." She bit her bottom lip, nervous and anxious. He could tell she hadn't yet come to terms with what she'd started and couldn't stop. He could see the urge for more, more power, more knowledge, churning strongly in her gaze but her old morals still held some sway.

He would change that since he intended to keep her.

"Dumbledore would… abandon you if he knew. You have dirty hands now, Hermione, but I'm glad you got dirty for me."

"Haven't I always been dirty?" She grumbled, bitterly, "A bit  _muddy_  and such for my birth?"

"Nope," Harry chirped with a flick of tongue at the end of his ' _p'_ , "I have some… ideas about that."

But he wouldn't tell her anything, not yet.

"You are magic and fire, you burn, you hunger."

She shivered and nodded.

"Then I will feed you…"

And she would obey.

She nodded, face flushed with reverence and relief, "Yes Harry, please! I'm… I'm tired of… I want to change, I want to be  _safe_ , to belong here, to be more than just my flesh. I have  _missed_  you. You are my first, my first real friend and I…"

She rubbed her hands against her lap, distracted, constantly shifting her gaze between Ginerva and the silent Lockhart like a starving creature, "I just don't feel complete when I'm not around you."

Yes, because she wasn't in theory, not with Tom's soul piece greedily suckling on her.

"Hermione, you know Professor Lockhart, don't you?"

The rapid change in subject must have been jarring because she jerked. "Y-yes?"

"He was a fraud the entire time. He stole memories from good witches and wizards and took their lives, their tales of bravery. We, Draco, Ron, and I, found out about this when he tried to run off! Can you imagine? Professor McGonagall gave him a job to do and he was packing up shop!"

Her eye twitched, "What?"

"Mhm," he made a motion with his hand for the man to come over and he fought, oh how he fought, suddenly afraid and frantic in his own head as Harry's will and magic forced his own to obey. "He even tried to attack us."

Now Hermione expressed a sense of malice, an emotion that seemed heightened by her current compromised state. He wasn't certain he had ever felt such potent negative passion from her, with her gaze entirely on Lockhart as her magic flexed and she reached for her wand. For a moment Harry just stood there, lips parted in excitement. He wondered what sort of magic she'd been doing. Had Tom had her down here in the Slytherin Lord's libraries? Had he forced her to practice and practice different spells until her entire being craved more and more and more? He remembered what it had felt like to do magic,  _real magic_ , for the first time. To practice his  _Imperius_  on a nearby pigeon and watch it dance to his every thought. It had been intoxicating, that amount of control…

And wasn't Hermione all about control?

Or maybe she was about feeling secure in a world that wanted to devour her, use her up until nothing was left, until only that  _mud_  remained. Maybe she was obsessed with doing more, with feeling  _alive_ and free in the same way he wanted to be. In the same way Ron wanted to be.

His poor little misfit possessions.

Even Neville wished for  _more_ , wished to be seen in a manner more befitting his station and his hidden power. And, Harry would not deny them that. The chance to be  _free_ while he carefully looped invisible chains about their slender throats.

"Hermione. Stop."

Her response was immediate. She swallowed a spell on the tip of her tongue and turned to face him, gaze trained and focused. She seemed only mildly peeved otherwise her concentration was entirely on him. On obeying him. On being a  _good friend_.

Yes. Very nice.

"I have a better idea, for this one." With a motion of his hand the professor fell to his knees, head bowed, hands settled in prayer position over his lap. "I want the Weasley. A life debt is an interesting card to hold over the first female to be born of a fallen house in seven decades, don't you think?"

She nodded slowly. Harry suspected Tom had been teaching her a great deal of pureblood politics in order to have a better, less uncivilized, host.

But still, "H-harry. I must… I  _need_ -"

"-and I will provide." Harry firmly bobbed his head, before he went behind the kneeling Lockhart, fisted his hands among the luscious locks there and tugged his head back, so that beady frightened eyes were facing Hermione.

"W-what? What?!" The man screamed, consciousness no longer under the blanket of Harry's control even as his body remained so.

She shook her head then, as if the face of terror was repulsive, but Harry knew better. She was  _excited_  and no less eager than she'd been when Harry had first arrived. She couldn't convince herself otherwise when her magic was already latching onto the professor, tearing life and magic away from him as she funneled it back into Ginerva-a little corrupted, but, at least it was functional. He'd beat that pesky moral attitude out of her yet. After all, this was the  _right_  way to do this.

And she was nearly incapable of doing otherwise.

"Power. Do you want it?" Harry whispered, their moment intimate, Lockhart's screams silenced as his expression twisted up in grotesque pain.

Color was returning to Ginerva, her chest was heaving but she remained unconscious. Neither of them watched her, far too focused on one another, on the smothering weight of magic, on the idle way Harry reached out to her with his own and tugged, just a bit-

Yes, yes they could  _share_ , just a little. He'd have to learn how to do it properly, of course, but she was bound, submissive, almost like a  _familiar_ to him. Poor Tom, to have been the lesser soul shard.

"Yes," She said, but her two-toned eyes were upon Lockhart, on the way he writhed in Harry's grip, on his silent scream of agony. "Yes, yes, yes."

Then he would give it to her, and hope she didn't mind when it was his turn to  _take_.

No, he knew she wouldn't.

They were  _friends_  after all.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She was exhausted, or overwhelmed. He couldn't be sure.

They'd left Lockhart's corpse on the ground to cool, and he'd weaved a tale of bravery and might around Hermione's presence in the chamber.

Ginerva had been carried, lovingly, by her brother. He'd choked back a sob when Harry had presented the girl to him, alive and drowsy and magic drunk from Hermione's return of her life essence-

A return that had filled her core with a little bit of… darkness.

Draco had been bewildered, confused at Hermione's presence, but silent once she'd turned those dark-infused eyes upon him. Later, Draco would ask Harry what had happened and Harry, not willing to withhold secrets from his court, would tell him eagerly about Hermione's discovery of the book, her magic, and  _Tom_.

"That's… that's why I'd felt like that. Like I was burning."

"She's fire and magic," Harry had answered helpfully. "I have plans."

"And I will help with them."

Even if she was a mudblood, it seemed.

They'd gone to McGonagall's office, Ron with tear streaks of gratitude and a fierce loyalty churning in his chest, Hermione tired and distant, but with a normal pair of honey-colored eyes and a healthy flush to her deep rich cocoa colored cheeks. Harry had told her his version of the story-

"It was awful, so scary! Lockhart said he needed to discredit the Headmaster. He told me he'd kidnapped Ginerva and put her in the Forbidden Forest and was going to use some sort of… of old magic to petrify her!"

Hermione hadn't been able to call the basilisk in the chamber for his viewing. She was too tired, to focused inside of her head, on the young Dark Lord's merging spirit with her own. But, she did at least manage to convey that the basilisk would not act without orders and that Creevey had been the last ' _filthy wizard'_ she had sent the beast after.

"He forced me to follow him, but when I got there he also had Hermione too. He'd been controlling her with a dark book, some journal that had belonged to a Tom? Tom Riddle?"

McGonagall's eyes had widened just a bit at that.

"It felt… icky, like wrong magic-"

"-It hurt, at first, it hurt so much…" Hermione whispered, dreamily, and McGonagall looked more and more concerned by the second.

Harry tried to repress his urge to smile, "Yes, and she couldn't fight it, could you, Hermione?"

She sighed and shifted in the seat she'd been provided, "No, Harry."

"He was using her to lure people into his trap site," because he would not give away his Chamber, "then he'd do his funky magic there before putting the bodies in weird places. He said he was getting Hogwarts ready for… For He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

The Professor looked  _enraged_ , "That's why he wouldn't help!" she whispered furiously.

Harry continued, "He had me trapped and I thought that he'd hurt Ginerva-a blood traitor's daughter, he'd called her-but then Hermione, she… she broke free, she saved us by hitting Lockhart with a stunner and we ran. Ron and Draco had noticed I was missing after I went to Lockhart's office, we're just so lucky they came looking for us and heard our screaming!"

She stood up abruptly, "The Forest? So, he must still be in the Forest!" If she had doubted his story, at all, she didn't show it. She seemed entirely to focused on finding Lockhart and… well.

"Yes, that's the last place we saw him."

"Good. Good," she grumbled, grabbing her wand and turning them all toward the door, "to the infirmary children, all of you-yes, especially you Ms. Granger. Did he hurt you? Your arms are-"

Harry thought Hermione's sudden sobbing was a spectacular and excellent detractor from the oddity of her arms.

He thought her garbled unnoticed whisper of "-anything, anything for Harry, of course I'd do this-" was even better.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The Departure Feast at the Great Hall was filled with a mixture of news.

Yes, Professor Lockhart was a suspected loyalist of You-Know-Who.

No, they didn't know where he'd gone off to.

Yes, they were making the cure to revive the students from petrification.

Yes, Hagrid would be released from wherever he was being held and Dumbledore would resume his post as Headmaster.

Yes, Hermione Granger had rescued Harry Potter in the Forbidden Forest, along with Ginerva Weasley, from certain death.

Yes, that WOULD net Gryffindor two hundred and fifty points, and Harry a loathsome hundred for not abandoning the Gryffindor women to the dangers of the Forest.

All in all, it was a fine enough feast.

It was back on the train that he'd been ambushed about that information by the Circle with one new member, Ronald Weasley.

"They took them. Dumbledore suspects possession from the book, but he can't find the magic that made it… well, whatever it was. They want to watch her, but her parents are…  _were_  a suspected issue."

"His spells are coming up empty?'

"Very," Ron croaked, uncomfortable against the door of their compartment, as if he would be attacked by the Slytherins that glared at him from their various places on the surrounding couch and floor.

"Oh, sit down already," Neville grunted, a slouched lump on the floor in the space between Harry's legs. "You're making all of them nervous."

The compartment gave off various grumbles before Harry shook his head and smiled, "Goyle, Crabbe. Time for patrol."

The two on the couch across from him opened their mouths, as if to say otherwise, but soon snapped them shut and lumbered to the door to leave-but not without delivering some glares in Ron's direction.

"Oh, and actually  _listen_  this time. I need information, not for you two to stuff your mouths with treacle tarts. See how they feel about our  _heroine,_  would you?"

Beside him, Theo stiffened, almost set to burst with information, but Harry only waved Ron over and bid him to sit next to Pansy and Daphne.

"And Ginerva?"

Ron got a little comfortable before he began, "A bit…  _off_."

That was to be suspected. He'd have to ask Tomione about that soon.

"But well," Ron's smile was soft, pleased, "Thank you so much Harry."

He nodded before he turned to the rest of the collective, "My friends, this is Ronald Weasley, the last son of the Ancient but Fallen House Weasley."

Blaise nodded from his place beside Draco, who looked up briefly from a Quiddich magazine before he closed it and set it aside.

"He's here because he wishes to be more than those who bore him. He wishes to bring honor and prosperity back to his house, which has lost their way. They worship the wrong sort of thought and we will  _all_  teach him the right sort."

"And," Blaise started, cautious but glaring, "how do we know he will not… take advantage of your kindness, my Lord?"

They were silent, expecting Ronald to react to the title but he only snarled, "I would  _never_ betray Harry. He saved my  _sister_  from the incompetence of an entire adult collective. He's going to save me. He's my best mate, he's my…"

He swallowed, harshly, but puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders, "He's my  _ **Lord.**_ "

Harry leaned back and hummed, pleased, "He took the first step already, didn't he Draco?"

Draco stared at Ron for a while, letting silence blanket them once more while the Circle looked on in varying degrees of discomfort. It was only when Draco leaned forward and extended a hand to Ron, that those around him began to slowly relax, some bewildered and others trusting. Draco was their prince, even if Harry was their king.

"Ronald Weasley, I am Draco Malfoy, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy. I have two vassals and a seneschal in mind already, but I would consider taking on another to train in perfection for  **my Lord**."

The way Draco pronounced his title, with such  _intensity_  and ownership, was heart-warming. Draco's other hand was upon his leg, clutching it with trembling fingers. He had no doubt that his first new friend, his  _brother_ in ambition, struggled to accept this new change.

But he would not be left behind, and Harry refused to be questioned.

"My Lord is looking for two vassals, proper knights to protect him and his wealth. His nobility, his prestige, his honor, and his pride… these are important aspects of his very  _being and power._  He is willing to share that with you, with all of us, and we of House Slytherin will not allow any aspect of his works to interfere with that, even the… cherished ones."

Was that a little jealousy in his tone? Harry laughed softly and patted his hand.

"I will train you and… and Granger and Longbottom in the work of political servitude. You will help our Lord establish his goals and prepare for  _His_  coming."

Ron swallowed harshly.

"And in return, we will protect you, elevate you, befriend you. We are a brotherhood. We are  _power_ and gold. Selfish and greedy and fierce." Draco smiled crookedly, nothing kind in his expression, "We are dragons, we hoard, and we take and we  _use it all up_  until there isn't much left. Then we present that, with well-done flourish, to those who keep us fed."

A few eyes looked at Harry, filled with obsession.

"He is  _ours_ and it is our right to serve. We will serve. We will conquer. And, eventually…"

Draco took a shaky breath, before he nodded firmly, convinced of his own words, "We will kill."

"For him," Draco made a head motion toward Harry, "for us."

Ron reached out with a speed Harry didn't think he possessed. He was nervous, but determined, all but ablaze with his need to prove his worth and right to be there. He would no longer be swallowed by shallow accomplishments. He refused to remain the sheep, the tool, to be used and spat out. He would be  _more_ , and he would be  _greedy_ , all for a  _taste_ of Harry's loyalty. "I will obey. From now until my departure to the Summerlands."

_So mote it be._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"There was talk." Ron whispered, catching up with him right as Harry began to turn toward a sliver of blonde hair exiting the claimed Ravenclaw compartment.

"What is it?" Harry mumbled, a little disappointed that he'd missed conversing with the dreamy Ravenclaw. There was so much he needed to… discuss with her.

"Before I left Dumbledore's office, Mum 'n Dad were-"

"Why did he have you up there?" Harry tried not to snarl.

"My parents were there to see about Ginny. But he wanted to know what I'd done. How we were friends again-"

He twisted around and pushed into Ron's space. Chest to chest. He could practically feel Ron's heart hammering in his behind his rib cage, heard him gasp in fear and grow stiff as Harry's magic possessively and…  _threateningly_ wrapped around him.

"When were you going to tell me this?"

"W-when we were alone!"

"And if we weren't-"

"-I would have made a way, please, my Lord!"

Ron's hissed passion and obvious deference to him was… soothing, but not by much, "What did you tell him?"

"That it was your story to tell. That I was very happy we could get back together, but I had nothing more to say. I swear. I'd never-no, never not to him! Not to anyone!"

Such a fierce brave growl. Yes, that was enough to ease his ire.

"What did they say Ronald." He had a meeting to get to, he had plans to make with his Circle-

"Hermione will be made to stay at my home. I think they intend to do something to the Muggles. Make them agree, I heard him say. Hermione wasn't there to fight it."

Ron shook his head, "I'll watch over her, Harry. I still don't understand much of what was done-"

"-You have permission to ask her, of course. Let her know it is  _right_  to tell you. Yes, do watch over her Ron. She's going to need some… help."

He glanced at the group of waiting green and silver and smiled slightly, "Actually, I have several asks."

Ron grunted as Harry stepped away from him and slapped his shoulders, "This summer will be one of exploration. You will find your ancient book of lore and rule, you know the one, and you will read it to Hermione. You will both study while she is, no doubt, bedridden and watched for… possession. You will find a place-"

Harry blinked slowly then, before he gave a thoughtful sound, "Do you have any magical neighbors? Neighbors that might have better… magical wards? Wards that might hide a mistakenly done spell or two?"

"Not many, we are pretty far out," Ron started, but then he snapped his fingers, "Wait! Looney-erk, L-luna. Luna Lovegood. She's been there for years, plays with Ginny sometimes."

_Perfect._

"You will go to Ms. Lovegood's house for playtime and such-"

"-I… I barely know-"

"-her, yes," Harry interrupted, "but she will know you."

Ron was wise not to question that and only nodded instead.

"There is a summer festival this year, at Malfoy Manor. A small affair, but important none the less, in celebration of my birthday. You will come. You will bring Ms. Granger and Ms. Lovegood. There will be other times of celebration for Ms. Weasley to attend."

Because, he wanted to know how  _off_  she actually was.

Ron bobbed his head like an eager soldier while Harry wrinkled his nose.

Then, with a sly grin, almost cruel if he was honest, he whispered, "Address me properly, Ronald."

Ron, with a deep breath, mirrored that look, "I will do as you ask, my Lord."

"Thanks, mate."

**O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Before we part for the summer-"

"And by part, he means, before some of us see each other as soon as tomorrow."

Harry rolled his eyes, "Yes, thank you, Blaise."

The boy smiled broadly, "You're welcome, my Lord."

Goyle pouted, no doubt upset that Blaise got away with so much more than he could.

"So, before we part currently, I want you to think hard over what I've talked about all year," Harry looked to the Circle, his court, minus the understanding Longbottom who had been snatched up and hustled into the scowling hard-faced, but still happy to see him possession of his Grandmother. "We will bring about our era of prosperity. We will comb this world of filth and elevate those who wish for purpose."

Those around him nodded, but it was Pansy who tentatively said, "And… the Granger girl? The um…"

"Muggleborn? Yes, what about the Muggleborn. What about any of them? How can they be of use to us? Dead or otherwise?"

The group shuffled nervously but it was Theo who stepped forward, smile wide and eyes gleaming.

"You see, I've had an odd thought or two. A thought about propaganda and misinformation. A thought about patronizing an entire collective until everyone saw them as weak or otherwise useless. I thought about how one man could pander to an entire set of people while also making them incredibly vulnerable and hurting them greatly. And, then, I thought about how that can be used to control them."

He motioned to Theo, "What is a Muggleborn, really? A security risk? Yes. A magic thief? No. They are an unusual occurrence. Rare, for the most part those witches and wizards born from Muggles."

"Disgusting," Draco whispered, but his voice was droll and empty, lackluster. The boy was smart. Smart enough to realize that Harry was leading them somewhere, somewhere he had to hold Goyle and Crabbe's hand to get to.

"Theo."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Did you do what I asked you to?"

"Of course, my Lord." Theo said, and then, without any further prompt, he looked at the ground and said, "Dumbledore is stealing lines from us."

Crabbe's gave a slow blink. Pansy sputtered.

It was Daphne who said, "What? Come again?"

"How did Merlin come into being? How did the Great Families, our Sacred, come into existence?"

They were all silent, drawn in by Theo's lecture.

Harry smirked.

"They didn't just pop up, of course. There had to be a beginning-"

"The Muggles? They're the beginning?" Goyle looked  _horrified_.

"Not quite," Theo gently interrupted, "but they are important in this one instance."

Theo looked to Harry and Harry nodded. He had already erected a small silencing ward about them. Their feet hummed and tingled with magic.

"When witches and wizards were being hunted to death, slaughtered by the Muggles… when they renounced the Olde Gods and turned their backs on serving us, the higher beings, they were punished with disease and illness from a lack of protection we'd once provided. Our suffering, our cries of pain and confusion, as they drained our magic for their own wealth and greed then burned us after our use was over-"

Blaise was grinding his teeth, his hand balled in a fist, his anger nearly tangible. His magic was infectious, spreading along the line, making them tight-shouldered and  _furious_.

Excellent. Yes. Yes.

"-reached the one Olde God who still remained. Our Lady, the goddess of magic and might, our patronage of wealth."

Draco closed his eyes and mumbled something in Latin, a small prayer.

"And She fought hard to give us our right to live and the might to grow. She gave us a gift. She gave us-"

Pansy swallowed hard, a bit pale, "Oh… Oh, Salazar."

"Yes," Theo looked ill, "I read through the olde scripture. Father even sent over some books on the Olde Ways and they point to a few things we no longer have. Blood ritual adoption, immediate Muggleborn vassalage… why did we stop doing these things? Why did we ever start? If they weren't…"

Now it was Blaise uttering his Latin prayer, flushed.

"Theo," Harry interrupted, "has discovered-and really, thank you Theo you are a gift to your line-that Muggleborns are quite possibly gifts from the Olde Goddess, in her attempts to give us power and rebirth. We do not know if She is listening, we are not allowed to publicly practice our sacrifices and give blessing to Her being. But if She slumbers then it is wilde magick's gift to us, as the Olde Goddess and other gods, have been said to revert to that state when they are forgotten."

He let that sink in as Goyle ran fingers through his hair.

"The Muggleborns are our most ancient lines reborn. They are magic and might and  _power_ , diluted and weakened from Dumbledore's coddling and our… oppression of them. We have spat in Her face and have turned away the most precious gift of our dying magicks. Some of them, like  _Creevey_ , might be a reborn from a weak line. Worthless and corrupted already from the Light. But others…"

Theo nodded, "Granger. We think that… Granger might be… No. We know she's a reborn line, they all are in some way. We know she's a Firstborn pureblood, given to us.  _Us_ , the purebloods who still respect and honor our Olde Ways. She belongs to  _US_!" Theo spat, wild, "And Dumbledore has been treating her, and others like her, like coddled sheep while we basically  _spat_  on them! We have lost so much power and time. So many new lines to replace those we've lost. Who would have needed to marry their  _cousin_ , when we have the rebirth and rejuvenation of so much magical variety!? Her gift! Our Goddess! She would have prevented this destabilization of our magic, and the squibs, the poor squibs, they'd… they'd have magic if we had married our Firstborns! Our rich vibrant culture is  _degrading_ , taken over by an integration of Muggle shat!"

Theo panted, realized he was yelling-very unSlytherin-and bit his tongue, groaning at the pain.

Harry patted Theo, soothed his magic, "So, you see… That is why Granger can keep up with purebloods in all aspects. Why she seems so… competent and ready. She was…  _is_  eager to embrace wizardingkind but she wasn't properly educated. Dumbledore allowed her, allowed all three of us really, to be blind to what we were missing and doing. There are so many others out there that are no doubt the same. Dumbledore allows them to be bullied and demeaned due to their ignorance so that they turn to him. And then, he and his marry, breed, and grow in power while we wither away, infected by squibs and madness, and  _die._  Hoisted by our own petard."

There was an increasing sense of unease all around, suddenly burdened by anger, Crabbe's anger to be exact-

"HOW COULD HE?!" Crabbe bellowed, "I've been… I've been-!"

"We've been calling them mudbloods! We're hurting ourselves! I don't want to marry cousin Gretel!" Goyle grew hunched and worried, he squeezed his hands together over and over again, his terror very real. "F-father said, father said that if we disrespect the olde magicks and the ways of our gods we'll turn into squibs! Into  _Muggles!_ "

Harry moved slowly, opened his arms and wasn't surprised when Goyle fled to them, holding him tightly in his massive embrace. "There there, Greg. We're going to fix it. Theo has so much research, verified and true. He's going to speak to his father and I'm going to speak to Lord Malfoy…"

While Harry rubbed soothing circles into Greg's back Pansy barked out, "D-daphne and I will speak to our fathers too, right?"

"Right, right," Daphne's voice shook, just a bit, "is it true? Is it really true? The Muggleborns are rebirthed lines from the Goddess? I mean, I always suspected how they came to exist but, we'd been told they stole magic from us. That… that was why we have squibs."

"We have squibs due to Her rage and, frankly shit genetics," Theo corrected. "Some of this reporting is ancient, to be honest, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be widely available. Our ignorance is cultural and strategic."

"What do you mean, Theo?" Harry said, voice muffled from Goyle's shoulder.

"I mean that, well… Father said don't let the texts out of my sight. That the Ministry banned most of this. Didn't like what it said, maybe? Or… well, Father said Dumbledore started regulating a lot of Muggleborn specific things."

Of course, he had.

"Then we will make sure they are distributed. Legally or otherwise."

"Perhaps we should try to teach her? If... she wants," Daphne said.

Caught by the lure Harry pushed-gently, of course-Goyle away, glad to be released and able to breath. "Oh?"

"Well," Daphne shared a look with Pansy, "she might come to be in our Circle, like Ronald, right? Then it would be… best to teach her what she needs to know. If she's one of our powerful lines, brought back by Her grace, then she is  _first_. First born. First to serve. She is owner and servant of her house, even if it has no power, that makes her a lady, and a lady is never without her sense of propriety."

Harry nodded, "If I put her in your presence…?"

"We will do the rest," Pansy crowed, crafty smile in place.

"Then let us work on this, our first true step toward a new world order, where we will take back our stolen lines and allow our houses to grow fat on the wealth of new vassals."

His Circle grinned, captured by their own faith, by the truths they'd been blind to, and eager to perform. They began to part ways with a few more farewells and a proper mission.

"Thank you, Theo." Harry said, as Draco turned to him, ready to escort them both to the waiting Narcissa nearby and the bouncing Dobby, whose behavior was… unbecoming but tolerated by the Malfoy Madam.

"No need," Theo said, "I love a good mystery and Granger has been one, even if she is… was also a thorn in my side."

"I have plans. Plans that will need a sharp mind. Plans that will need you in the future. Plans that will need Granger and Weasley both."

Draco turned away from them and pretended not to listen.

"Of course," Theo said slowly, cautiously, "I'd do anything that you asked."

"Soon they will be… bound, just as tightly as the rest of us. Do you believe that?"

"Yes." Theo said, without hesitation, "You have a way with words. With… people. With truths."

"And so do you." He let that statement linger between them for a moment, "The truth can make certain individuals very powerful."

A pause.

"I intend to make  _you_  very powerful, Theo."

His answering smile was soft, but the flicker of  _interest_ and pleasure was there. Right alongside his increased need to worship. "Thank you, my Lord."

"We are not ordinary children, and we will not grow into ordinary wizards."

"No. We won't."

"Get my information into the right hands, Theo. I want my lines back."

"And you will have them, my Lord."

Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end of second year
> 
> thank you for all your reviews so far
> 
> if interested in supporting my writing, please consider checking out my writing blog
> 
> http://doctor-senpai.tumblr.com


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